*

Ricky,

Long time no write-- sorry about that. There's so damn much on my plate every day that I can rarely turn inward and talk to you there. So much of the world is shit right now. Or at least, our corner of that world. I'm glad you don't have to see it. Sometimes I wish you were here, that we could survive it together, but Benny's here, in so many ways, and it's still a hell, and I'm not making it any easier for him, either.

If you were still alive, if we were still together, would I think about Nathan at all? --Well, if you were still alive and we were still together, I'd be in a completely different band, so I suppose the answer is "no", I wouldn't think about him. Having to keep so many people happy that all want different things. I'd rather not have to keep Walter happy, but I have to. Then there's Ben, of course, but then there's Shann, and she always says she understands we're just friends, or at least as close to friends as we can be, but I know she doesn't actually understand that. I'll wake up in our hotel bed and she'll be completely wrapped around me and I just stay frozen for a moment, feeling so sick, so awful, and I don't even know why I feel that way, and it doesn't even begin to disappear until I take a shower. Being with Nathan feels so much better at first, but it'll eventually lead to that same feeling of dread, that pit in my stomach, and the showers after that are even more scalding, scrubbing as much as I can--

Ugh. I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I never wanted to upset you when you were alive. I always wanted to keep my issues mine. I always felt so much shame when I couldn't. I've tried to be different with Benny, a little, but it's not like he's any better at it than I am. I still think he resents me for it, though. I don't know what to do about a lot of that. I don't think I ever know what to do once I'm at the top of a mountain, so to speak. So much of my life has been about struggling to get somewhere. Putting everything I have into trying to get somewhere. Everyone else seems to have eased into "fame" so much easier than I have, and I don't think it's just because they're straight and I'm not. Some of it is by choice-- I really don't want to live as large as Nate does. A couple cars is enough. One house big enough for what I and one other person needs (with a little bit room for extra in the future-- maybe a studio like Kyle had...) is enough (If I indulge I suppose I indulge with club clothes and accessories and things... oh, my Grandfather's wailing now...). But some of it is more just... I still don't feel like I'm THERE the way they do. You know?

I mean-- part of what's off is how horrific everything outside of my immediate personal life is. G-d. I can only focus on one facet of my life at a time right now, it feels like. Everything else is immediately out of memory til I force myself to shift to something else. It's overwhelming. They don't have to worry about so much of this shit, Rick. And they wouldn't be willing to do what needs to be done about their parts of it (Walter makes them all cower so pathetically), so what's the point in telling them. Ugh. I really don't know what to do. I don't want you to have to deal with all this but I still wish you were here to talk to. Nate's here, but he's... I can only tell him so much and expect he'd understand it. And there's some things he can never know.

I guess I had a lot more on my mind than I thought. Missing you is still there among them as always, but crowded out more and more by everything happening in the present. I'm glad I had at least a little time to clear that out for you.

Love you always,

Jules

*

Ugh, more of a classic Nate night tonight. Ended up fine in the end, but the road to get there was a minefield (I didn't make it easier-- easier to see in hindsight). He was chattier than usual at first. Maybe he had some shots before everything else, but he didn't seem that much more drunk than usual. --First he asked me if I ever heard his album. HA. Of course not, but I didn't quite say it that way. I just said I somehow hadn't gotten around to it, but I guess that was still too close to sarcasm, 'cause his face twisted into an angry pout after I said it. I anticipated a barrage of macho bullshit, but I got his shoulders slackening, his face falling into a sadder frown. "Oh. ...I was thinkin' a lot about you when I wrote some of that stuff. --Rita, too. Things were already rocky by then. Some of it was my usual stupid crap, you know I'm no good with lyrics, but... I tried on this one. ...I thought you knew I was doin' a record, man." Yeah, whatever. That's why the timing was so suspicious. Right. I told him it was no wonder things with her were rocky when he was with me more than he was with her half of that year. You must've really loved her.

And his mouth dropped open for a second before he laughed a little, shook his head. "JESUS, dude, you can be the hugest BITCH. --It's no wonder you're with her (and it took me a second to remember he meant Shann, and that he thought I was truly with her), man. You're both fuckin' bitches, and I think she makes you worse." And YOU think everything you don't like about me is somehow Shannon's fault and it's SO obnoxious! --And then we got snippy with each other. And it was like that time in the kitchen, but this time, I was ready for it. I pushed into him whenever he pushed into me. He's a lot stronger than me, but drunk and still just my height-- if he ever pushed back so strong into me that I could never push back into him, I'd knee his balls, duck, and run for the fucking hills.

But that didn't happen, thankfully. It was always in the back of my mind but I could still enjoy myself regardless. We'd just been doing handjobs sitting next to each other before-- another addition to a routine, as I've been thinking about it-- this time we ended up falling on our sides onto the bed, clawing at each other, frotting-- still not fully naked, pants undone, shirts pulled up, taking out our frustrations on each other, cumming out what remained, pulling ourselves back together. He was laying on his back after for awhile, panting, and he laughed. "I remember sayin' you must've been kinduvva wild child, way back when, but I really didn't know the half of it, did I, man." I must've visibly cringed, because he mussed my hair, shoved me playfully. "I like that shit, though. You don't gotta be so buttoned up around me." We're not very buttoned now, are we? --He laughed again at that, and it felt good to hear, it felt good to make happen, I felt a warmth in my chest, and I hated it. Almost wanted to be "bitchy" again to cut it short. I wasn't. Of course not. I can be "bitchy" with him and I have been, but when push comes to shove, I'm always way too damn soft on him.

*

Things still going in that strangely (unsustainable, I know) nice way, though not without some stupidity. And it's Nathan, so the stupidity can be REALLY out there. Tonight he told me he crashed his motorcycle halfway through recording that silly album of his. He crashed his motorcycle, sprained his wrist, bruised up his entire left side. And he brought it up in the most SO off-the-cuff way, and then it almost sounded like he was BRAGGING, and I could barely believe it. Like, congratulations, you could've died? You could've ruined your ability to play guitar? You could've destroyed your life? He did one of his big laughs at that. "Yer soundin' like my Mom or somethin'[56]! It wasn't THAT bad, man! I sprained my wrist, I didn't get my arm torn off." Would've been really badass if you did, though, huh. "There you go bein' a bitch again." Because you were being an idiot again! --It didn't turn to snippiness this time. He just rolled his eyes, took a swig of wine. Went back to the topic at hand. "...Yanno... It felt kinda cool, honestly." What? "Crashin'." EXCUSE me? "--Okay, okay, not the ACTUAL crash.... more like the moment right before. That split fuckin' second. If they could turn that shit into a powder I'd snort it!" And you say I'M crazy?? He laughed again at that. "Damn, man, I dunno, maybe we're both crazy! I can live with that. I think."

Ugh. It was back to the usual handjobs this time. Better that way anyhow. Later I got to see Benny, too. Hung with the crew for the first time in awhile outside of business. Had another beer. Went up to Ben's room later and made love. At one point close to the beginning he paused, sniffed my shirt, let out a small laugh of his own. "G-ddamn, every fuckin' faggot usin that cologne these days, ain't they. Who got you first, baby?" A silly boy with a nice cock who didn't know what he was doing. "I know what I'm doin', don't I baby?"

UGH it was wonderful because of course it was. One of those nights it felt good to be fucked. Well-- more than good, GREAT. I guess I needed that reminder that I can feel weight against me, be under someone, and it can be erotic. I don't have to think about how to roll out from under him, I don't have to think about the exact layout of his hotel room and where the door is. I still do with Nathan. And I don't think he'd ever get that. He'd probably be offended by it. Hurt. And then I'd feel like shit, and let him get away with things that'll just make me feel like shit in the aftermath.

I don't have to worry about any of that with Benny. I know he won't hurt me, or complain about not getting a part of me he wants. I know he loves me. --G-d I miss him so much, even though he's technically here most of the time. We still don't have that time for each other. That's there, under so much. Another thing I can't feel fully. I give him as much as I can when I can see him and then have to bottle it all up 'til next time. That's what I can't deal with right now (and I hate that I can't). He has to deal with so much stress himself, though, and always seems to handle it better than I do... ugh. So many people handle things better than I do. I'm such a fucking wreck. I don't even know how I'm even halfway together right now. There are nights now I don't even really remember how shows went. I step off-stage and it's like I shut and locked a door behind me in my head. So much of my time with Shann is either a half-remembered blur or a torturously slow molasses-trickle full of resentment. I remember everything with Nate, though. I mean, I WRITE it. Of course I remember it. Writing it in itself was stupid. Too late now.

More than halfway done now, though. I can do this. I have to.

PS: I almost don't want to write-- but I've written so damn much already, haven't I?-- that Nate telling me how much he loved the split second before that crash of his happened got me kind of hard. Like what the fuck. What does that even mean. I think there's enough wrong with me right now. ...ugh, imagine him stumbling in afterwards, though. He WOULD be stupid enough to do that instead of go to a fucking doctor. He probably wouldn't explain himself either, and he'd probably look even better than the fucking day he barged into my place after NOT crashing his motorcycle. And he'd eventually have to take all his clothes off for me to clean him off, and I'd be the one to offer to clean him off because I'm a fucking pervert-- ugh. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

*

[56]Oh, the one you forgot to call for SIX MONTHS? "Yeah, her!"