Larry slammed the door to his hotel
room with a frustrated growl, kicking over the chair next
to him in an explosion of rage. He wanted to break
something... someone, anything. He stomped through the
darkness of his room to his bed, sitting down on it with
a huge heave of breath.
Once again, rehearsal had been a blow-up, a disaster.
Adam hungover, Bono agitated, Edge practically falling
asleep during his own guitar solos. Larry had been the
only one playing somewhat properly, (despite the other
three pulling him off course with their own mess ups),
and when he had sternly pointed out that they were off
balance, the three had turned on him like animals,
ripping him apart verbally and lashing out at each other
as well. Larry had hardly gotten a word in edgewise as
Bono screamed at the top of his lungs, throwing his mic
at Larry in fury as Adam walked off the stage without a
word to anyone. Not defending Larry. He chose to let
Larry get ragged out so he didn't have to get the same
treatment. Edge had watched on, nodding every once in a
while as Bono went off. That had been it. Larry had told
them they could all fuck off and took a taxi back to the
hotel.
Fuck them. Fuck ZooTV. Fuck U2. Fuck Bono, fuck Adam,
fuck Edge. Fuck everything.
Now he stood in the pitch dark of his hotel room, the
anger festering in him. He layed back on the bed, feeling
uncomfortable in his own skin for the first time since
his mom died fifteen years earlier. If they were being
the arseholes, why did he feel guilty? Why was there a
sick weight in his stomach? A rush of confusion came over
him and Larry sat up, shaking his head to himself.
He'd just been on the road too long. That must be it. He
just needed to go home and everything would be better...
then that voice came back, a stinging bit of truth
blaring in his mind.
Who do you think you're fooling? You only believe that
because you're too scared to accept the truth.
"Shut UP!" Larry said through gritted teeth,
getting off the bed and walking to the bathroom.
Flipping on the light, he turned on the faucet and filled
the sink with cold water. He stared at his frowning
visage in the mirror, took a deep breath and leaned over,
splashing the cold water on his face. He wiped his face
off with a white towel.
The band is breaking down and you're losing it. Who the
fuck are you?
Larry opened the medicine cabinet, shuffling around the
shelves for some Tylenol, his head pounding with a
headache. He felt like someone had stepped on his head,
his temples roaring points of pain. Larry dug around
clumsily through the top shelf and a green glass bottle
of Aleve slipped off the shelf, crashing against the edge
of the sink. Larry had reached for it to try and catch
it, but had missed. When the bottle broke, a sharp piece
of glass slipped into his grasping hand, slicing the
palm. Larry pulled away with a hiss, dropping the piece
on the counter, where it broke into even smaller pieces
as Aleve pills scattered everywhere. Larry watched dully,
dazed, as drops of his blood dripped into the full sink,
mingling with the water. Spreading...
Like a disease.
"No, shut up," Larry muttered, staring at the
thin, swelling line of blood on his palm where he'd just
been cut.
Finally snapping back to his senses, he wrapped his hand
in the white towel, trying to apply pressure to the cut.
With the other hand he slammed the cabinet shut, anger
rising in him again. PERFECT. Fucking PERFECT. Now he
wouldn't be able to play. One more thing. One more bloody
thing for the others to attack him about, for the four to
bicker over. He could see the condescending look on
Bono's face already, his arms crossed as he said,
"Now what are we going to do, Lawrence? Cancel the
rest off the Australian Tour for just YOU?" Edge
shaking his head with that holier-than-thou look, "I
don't think so... you'll just have to play like that, get
used to the pain... that will teach you to drop things...
" And the worst of all, Adam. Adam would just stand
there, not saying a word, letting Bono and Edge verbally
and emotionally beat at Larry, try to break him down...
Edge never used to be like that. He used to be
compassionate, understanding. Bono used to be sympathetic
and supportive. Adam used to be loyal, used to stick up
for his friends. What had happened to them? What had the
road done to them?
What have you done to them?
"NO!" Larry shouted, furious, "NO! It's
not ME! It's THEM... "
Larry glowered at his angry reflection again, noticing
the blood smearing his white tee shirt. So much blood...
Larry looked down, alarmed and upset to see the blood
seeping through the towel, smearing on his other hand,
soaking into his shirt.
"DAMMIT... why it bleeding so much? I'm going to
bleed to death if this keeps up... "
At least I'd be out of this place... away from these
people...
Larry looked back up at the mirror, squinting irately,
and froze, the anger on his face switching to fear and
confusion. His reflection was vibrating at him, the
mirror shaking.
"What the fu-"
The mirror exploded from the inside, shattered glass
flying at Larry. Larry threw himself back against the
wall with a surprised cry, wrapping his arms around his
head, trying to protect himself from the shards of glass
that slashed at or stuck in his bare arms. Pain... a
ringing pain shot through his head, causing him to
collapse to his knees as he was showered in glass, blood
of fresh cuts running down his arms.
Fuck my life...
He could feel the pressure of the explosion burst with
his head. He was going to pass out... he'd rather it that
way. Forget everything... just let go...
Then he yelled out, not caring that he could be heard
from the hotel hall, not caring or knowing that Bono
could hear him from the room next door, which he'd just
entered. Not knowing Bono was bolting from his room,
breaking through the locked door of Larry's room, racing
for the bathroom as he saw Larry crying on the floor,
dripping with water and blood, glass in his hair and on
his shoulders, pills all over the sink and floor. He
didn't hear Bono as he called to him, couldn't feel him
as Bono shook his shoulder, wiping blood off Larry's
cheek with the other hand. Everything was a silent
film... all he could do was feel the floor fall out from
under him, feel himself falling farther away from
everything, toward the darkness.
Fuck my life...
___
Larry's eyes snapped open, the sensation of Bono being
next to him gone. Larry's mouth dropped open as he looked
around at his surroundings, his legs pulled up against
his chest. He pulled them even closer, fear filling him.
Where was he?
Finally he stood up, looking around at the jutting,
twisting crystal walls and floor of the dim cave. How had
he gotten here? What was this place? The blue crystal of
his surroundings seemed to glow and move with light,
despite the darkness of the area. He walked slowly,
carefully, a few steps forward, toward a jagged jut of
crystal sticking out of one wall, staring at it
curiously. He reached out with his right hand to touch
the cool surface, and then realized that his hand was no
longer cut. He frowned, looking down at the hand, then
down at his clothes. No blood, no water, no glass. It was
as if it had never happened.
He walked along the wall a little farther before he came
across an area on the wall of the cramped cave that
wasn't sharp, but smooth. He watched it, bewildered as
the crystal clouded with a dull light then cleared again,
showing a very familiar image.
Larry instantly recognized himself, ten years younger,
sitting next to Bono on a tour bus. The image became
eerily clear in his mind and he closed his eyes, the
picture filling his mind:
"There's a couple people out there that want to talk
to you, Larry," Bono had said, sitting down next to
him.
"What kind of people?" Larry had asked, looking
up from his book.
"Fans, of course," Bono had replied.
"... I don't really feel like talking to any fans...
"
Bono had shrugged, "Whatever... they have been
waiting a while though."
"... They probably don't want to see me
anyway," Larry had said.
Bono had shaken his head, "No, they asked for
you."
"I just don't feel like it, okay?"
Bono had made a face, "... Fine."
Larry opened his eyes again, scowling as the crystal
before him went back to its dark, clear state. What the
hell had that been? Larry shook his head, ready to move
on when suddenly he felt his body shake, and just like
the mirror had before he'd gotten to this place, the
smooth crystal in front of him cracked, then exploded,
sending shards of crystal flying, the ceiling above
rumbling and caving in. Larry flew back from the force of
it, slamming to his back on the floor and pulling himself
quickly into a fetal position, trying to protect himself
from the falling icicles of blue crystal. The shaking
stopped as soon as it had started and Larry sat up,
looking around him with concern. How much longer could
this place hold up?
It's just doing what you feel... this is that dark place
in you... you have felt like your walls were closing in
on you, haven't you? And this isn't a new feeling, is it?
Been feeling like this for a long time, haven't you? Boy,
it's ugly in here... and it's about to get uglier.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Larry screamed at the walls
as he leapt to his feet and ran passed the shattered
wall.
He had to get out of here. Anywhere but here. Larry's
mind raced with thoughts of confusion, fear and
insecurity. What had he done to come to here? Larry
stopped in front of a dead end, another smooth wall and
like before this one clouded then cleared with an image
in it. Larry saw himself, what looked to him to be 1987,
talking to Adam at a break backstage at a concert. Larry
watched with reluctant fascination. He'd never really
gotten to ever watch himself from this point of view...
the way he talked, his mannerisms, his facial
expressions. He watched intently, remembering the scene
as if it were yesterday:
Adam had wiped away the sweat on his neck with a towel,
"Sorry about that."
"You fucked it up," Larry had said flatly.
"I know, I'm sorry," Adam had nodded, taking
off his glasses and rubbing the towel on his nose.
Larry had scowled at him, "You need to get your act
together."
Adam had paused, "I didn't MEAN to mess up... "
"'Bad' is one of the most important songs of the
set," Larry had gone on sternly, "Fuck up again
and see what happens."
"W-what?" Adam had asked, surprised.
"You've been pissing me off this whole show. I don't
have to put up with your shit. Get serious about this or
we'll fuck the whole show," Larry had said coldly,
leaving for the show.
A look of hurt had spread across Adam's face, but he had
quickly covered it up, following Larry out back to the
stage silently.
Larry took a step back, biting his lip. That... that was
horrible to watch. Larry thought back to the day, tried
to remember...
"No, it's not fair... I had a backache that day, I
was in a bad mood... it's not my fault," Larry shook
his head.
It wasn't Adam's fault either.
"He messed up his playing, not me!" Larry
insisted to himself, trying to brush away the guilt.
The crystal clouded and cleared again, Adam the only one
in the image now, sitting in his hotel room on the bed
and talking on the phone:
"Amy, what's wrong?" Adam had asked into the
phone.
He had paused and then shook his head, shock spreading on
his face, "No... he couldn't have! NO!"
Bono had come into the image, sitting down next to Adam.
"Adam, what's wrong? Adam?"
Adam had dropped the phone, "... My friend Alex...
he... died."
Larry gasped slightly, the events of the day coming back
to him. Adam's friend Alex died the day of the concert
and Adam played anyway... that's probably why he had
screwed up. He'd been preoccupied. He hadn't told Edge
and Larry until after the concert that Alex had died.
When Larry chewed him out he didn't know what had
happened...
That doesn't make what you did okay.
"I KNOW!" Larry snapped, "Okay? I KNOW...
but... "
The ceiling rumbled and Larry yelled out. Not again! The
wall before him, just like the other, exploded outward.
Larry dove out of the way, crystal crashing and
shattering around him. When the chaos had stopped, Larry
looked up around him and sighed.
"What do you WANT from me?" Larry shouted,
frustrated.
To get it.
"GET WHAT?"
What your problem is.
"I want OUT of here, that's my problem!" Larry
hollered.
No answer came to him and he stood up, walking back
toward where he'd come, stepping over chunks of crystal
and battered walls. The place was closing in. He had to
get out...
No crystal clouded over this time. Larry was just
suddenly overwhelmed by a huge sense of a loss of
self-control; he couldn't stop the image coming to his
mind. Larry's knees gave out from the blinding pain, pain
he couldn't explain the origin of, and he whimpered, his
eyes squeezing tight as he knelt down, the crystal under
him splattering with tears:
Larry had scowled as Bono walked about the stage, his
voice cracking at the chorus, unable to hold the note.
Edge had turned to look at Bono and accidentally knocked
over his mic with a screech of feedback. As the roadie
picked it up, Adam had pulled up a seat while he played.
Larry's frown then darkened. He hadn't been in the mood
for it...
"I can't hit that note," Bono had finally
admitted, ending the song prematurely, "I don't know
why, I just can't pull it."
"... How the fuck are we supposed to play then? When
are you gonna get your act together?" Larry has
asked.
"... Larry, don't... " Edge had muttered.
"Don't what?"
"No, Edge," Bono had interrupted, "Let
him. Go ahead Larry. What other smartarse, shithead
remarks have you got for me now?"
"Bono... "
"No, Edge! He's been pulling this shit all
week," Bono had insisted, "Go ahead and say it,
Larry."
Larry hadn't said anything and Bono had sneered,
"Oh, what? Now you've not a bloody thing to
say?"
Adam had then stood up, pulling his bass off and walked
off the stage, Larry shooting daggers at him with his
eyes and Bono not even noticing.
"Fuck off, Bono."
"I'm sorry, Larry I didn't HEAR you," Bono had
roared, throwing his mic at the drumkit.
Larry had shot up, "Don't make me climb over there
and kick your-"
"Oh, please DO," Bono had growled, "I've
been wanting to slap you around for a while now."
"You know what Bono? The problem still remains. Over
fifteen years and you STILL can't sing," Larry had
said with a cold stare.
Bono's face had melted from hate to disbelief, "...
WHAT?"
"Fuck off, all three of you," Larry had
snapped, walking off the stage in the opposite direction
from Adam.
Larry leaned onto his back, breathing heavily. That had
just happened a couple hours ago... who the hell was
that? That person wasn't Larry. That person was cruel and
cold...
What is your problem?
"I'm an arsehole," Larry muttered unhappily,
"I've been wearing THEM down, not the other way
around... "
This place... this place was the personal hell inside
himself. The anger, selfishness, frustration, aggression
and depression he'd been holding in since his mother
died. Everything since then had just been building up.
Larry thought he had held it in, had captured it
somewhere where it couldn't show, the hurt wouldn't be
apparent. Instead, he let it out in anger, lashing out at
the people he cared about the most. It took being taken
to that place, facing everything he had denied in
himself, to see that. He wasn't bottling up emotions like
everyone thought he was. He was letting them out in
unhealthy ways.
Larry sat there, his eyes glazed over, staring at his
right hand, the injured hand from where he'd come from,
and wondered what others had done to be forced to put up
with him... what could he do to change? He hardly noticed
as the crystal began to rattle and shatter again, shards
shooting out from all around him as he stared down at his
healed hand.
You see the problem now?
"Yes," Larry nodded, watching with a detached
gaze as the ceiling began to cave in.
Does it bother you?
"Of course."
What are you going to do about it?
Larry closes his eyes, standing up as the ground shook
violently, "End it."
The ceiling gave in. Larry closed his eyes as the crystal
ceiling came down on him.
___
"Larry? Larry, open your eyes," Bono shook
Larry. Larry's eyes popped open. He was back in the
bathroom, the blood and water and pills once again
surrounding him. He looked down at his hand; the blood
soaked towel covered it and nodded slowly, rubbing the
cold sweat off the back of his neck with his other hand.
He looked up at Bono, his eyes still watery. Bono face
was full with concern and worry.
"What the hell happened here? Are you okay?"
Bono asked frantically, "What happened to the
mirror? Why didn't you get HELP?"
"I don't know... I should have gotten some ages ago.
You guys were always there for me, wanting to help
weren't you?" Larry said in a cracked whisper.
"... What? Look, Larry we need to get you to a
hospital... "
Larry reached up and pulled Bono into a hug. Bono's body
stiffened, unused to such unexplained, open affection
from Larry. He hugged Larry back, his brow furrowed.
"Are you okay? Did you... on purpose?" Bono
eyed Larry's hand and Larry pursed his lips, "I
think I might have done it on purpose, yes."
"You're not sure?"
"Nothing's sure anymore."
Bono scowled, "I think you're a bit delirious from
the loss of blood."
"No, Bono," Larry shook his head, "I'm
clear for the first time in years... I was an arse today,
I'm sorry."
"... Is that why you did this? Larry, everyone has
fights! It's no reason to slash yourself!"
"I didn't slash myself on purpose," Larry
replied, "That was an accident, but the mirror...
"
Larry eyes connected with Bono's, both resembling the
blue crystal Larry had shattered with his own anger in
some far away place in himself. A smile played on Larry's
lips and Bono helped carefully pull him to his feet.
"Paul?"
Bono looked up, surprise on his face at being called
"Paul", "What?"
"... I'm scared."
"It's okay... " Bono slung Larry's arm over his
shoulder, "I'm here now."
Larry stopped Bono from pulling him into the bedroom.
Bono scowled, tugging at Larry's arm. Larry pried Bono's
hand off him and looked down at the floor, where a large
piece of mirror sat. He looked at his reflection staring
back at him and sighed. Time to end it all. A weight
lifted from Larry's shoulders. He could do it. He'd make
it. He was strong enough. He just need to...
Larry turned back to Bono, "Bono?"
"Yeah?"
"Can you do something for me?"
"What?"
"Take me home."
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