Something is Wrong- Jareth (Short Story)

!WARNING!

This is a limited page project for a writing course I am currently taking! Due to this, the story is loosely canon and event/dialogue are reused/reworked from previous short stories :)
A lot had to happen in a small amount of page space!

This short story includes mentions of sex, body dysphoria, and adult themes



    When Jareth had first toured in America, a young woman with a black bob cut managed to slip into his dressing room. Five minutes after Jareth had settled in front of the bulb lined mirror, she had stood behind him topless. When Jareth stared at the young woman, she grew red in the face and began to cry, covering her laced bullet bra before fleeing the dressing room. It was then that Jareth had first thought; something is wrong.

     A firm fist with speckled birthmarks pulled Jareth through the thrashing mass of hands that writhed and grasped for him. Cole looked back, his mouth making words but Jareth unable to hear them. A woman gripped his scarf, fingers stroked his hair, and a shrill cry to his left pierced his ear drum. After being shoved into an open limo, the door shut behind Jareth and pushed against his side. He shifted away from the window, watching as hands pressed against it.

     “For god sakes,” Cole said, settling beside Jareth. He cleared his throat, then raised a knuckle to brush it against the thick mustache that sat above his lip.

     As the car began to roll, the muffled wave of screams and pounding of hands on the car began to fade behind Jareth, Cole, and Nigel; who drove.

     Jareth’s pale eyes stayed fixed on his reflection in the window, then to Cole’s reflection behind him. Cole toyed with his wedding ring, twisting it around his finger.

     “Jareth, have you-” Cole leaned forward, waiting for Jareth to look at him. “Have you had anything to eat?”

     Jareth nodded.

     “What?” He asked.

     “Pardon?” Jareth replied. 

     Cole’s brows furrowed, and he stared at Jareth.

     “What have you had? For food?” Cole said.

     “Tea.”

     “Tea? From this morning?” Cole asked, his brows heavy over his dark eyes.
“Tea isn't something to eat, Jareth.”

     “Oh…” Jareth said, then turned his head to look back out of the window.

     “Jareth.”

    Jareth looked at Cole again.

     “Would you like to stop for something? A restaurant or uhm, if you'd like we can ring for food at the hotel?”

     “Uhm, No.” Jareth replied.

     Jareth shifted in his seat as passing street lamps would light The car, then fade away into darkness until the next lamp. He watched how the light briefly caught on Cole’s wedding ring, and for a moment the ring almost appeared to glow before the light passed. Cole was a married man. He had wed when he was young and had two children. He had gotten married, had sex, and had children with a woman who was- in many ways- a stranger to Jareth. He had done what he was supposed to do. Granted, Cole and his wife were now divorced.

     Jareth looked down to his own hands, of which were curled up close to his stomach on his lap. Much like a meerkat.

     “Right, well you can't possibly be full, Jareth.” Cole said.

     “I’m not.” Jareth replied, turning his head to once again look out of the window.

     “Well there you have it,” Cole said, then briefly cleared his throat. “So where are we getting food?”

     “Go on and leave it Cole.” Nigel joined in from the front, turning the rear view mirror to look at Cole through it. “We’ll be here for fuckin ages.”

     Jareth stroked his scarf as he watched the wet bricked streets glisten like latex from the street lights. Tall flats with flower pots and ivy growing up the walls became extravagant estates with horse shaped bushes and flower-lined walkways. The gate to the hotel was opened after Nigel handed off their reservation card, which had been sitting in Cole’s inner coat pocket the entirety of the night. The three men met with the band in the lobby, checked into their respective rooms, and had their luggage brought up. Cole lingered in Jareth's room to rehearse tomorrow's schedule while Jareth sat with his knees together on his king sized bed. While Cole spoke, he checked the locks on the windows. He unlatched them, opened the window, then closed it again to lock it.

     “Right, well goodnight Jareth.” Cole said, now standing at the door. His shadow cast long into the dim room, stretching across the carpet.

     “Yes, Goodnight.” Jareth replied in his airy muttered voice.


     Jareth stood at the large oval mirror that hung above the cream colored sink. His bare feet were numb on the green bathroom tile, each square was small and ran from the floor up to the wall, stopping at the popcorn ceiling. A fog formed in the bathroom, the running water from the bath fosset letting off a lazy steam.

     Jareth gazed at his naked body. His pale figure stood still, his arms hanging and his skin hugging his ribs with each slow breath he took. He had a small dotted birthmark on his left peck, and one on his left thigh. Just beside it,  his genitalia hung like a leach between his thighs.

     Often, Jareth imagined reaching down to peel off his own manhood, and that it would come unstuck like a prosthetic. As though his masculinity was not meant to be, there would be a smooth surface hiding beneath. When he walked, he would no longer feel it tapping back and forth between his thighs, nor would he feel an unnatural bulk when crossing his legs.

     He turned to his side, studying it.

     Cole had gotten married and managed to have children. Cole had sex. How did anyone manage to have sex?

     An overwhelming dread stirred in Jareth's chest as he watched his own body, turning to face himself again. Despite Jareth’s sex appeal to thousands, he felt as though- in this moment, alone in the hotel bathroom- that he was the least sexually capable human to ever have been born. Something was wrong with him.

     Jareth dipped his body into the yellow tinted tub, the line of water rising to his chin. He stared up at the chandelier dangling above, finding it a funny idea to place an electrical chandelier above a bathtub. If it were to fall, Jareth would surely die. The hotel would be famous for the death of Jareth Gublenn; electrocuted in his hotel bathtub. He smiled to himself.


     The next morning when Cole came in to bring Jareth to breakfast, Jareth showed him the chandelier. To which Cole said; that's terribly morbid, Jareth.

     He then called the front desk to have it removed. He did not find it funny.

     Once dressed in long corduroy pants, a white and blue striped button up with rolled sleeves, and a long peach colored scarf, Jareth was led to the lobby where Nigel awaited in his dark green suit.

     Cole and Nigel conversed in the front seats while Jareth sat in the back, watching the London streets now in daylight. The drizzle from the night before left the brick sidewalks damp and the air nippy with chill. People among the streets were wrapped in thick trench coats, scarves, and hats.

     When Jareth, Cole, and Nigel arrived at the studio Jareth was then led to a small dressing room backstage down a short hallway. The carpet was a velvet red and the wallpaper was yellow and orange striped. It was horrid.

     Only when Jareth found the door with his name written in rhinestones on the door did he say;

     “What uhm, what might I be doing?”

     “What?” Cole asked, pausing as he turned to leave.

     “What is this?”

     “A dressing room,” Cole replied, then cleared his throat and opened the door.

     Jareth stared at him, and Cole stared back.

     “You’re being interviewed, Jareth,” Cole said sharply.  “I told you…”

     “Oh.” Jareth nodded.

    “Right, might you need anything?” Cole asked, leaning into the door to study the dressing room.

     “No uhm, no, not at all.” Jareth replied.

     “I’ve got to have a chat with Henry Darling, uhm, I’ll come to bring you out in- lets say- five minutes.” Cole replied, briefly looking down at his watch.

     “Mhm.” Jareth nodded, sitting down in front of the long mirror lined with bulbs of yellow tinted light.

     Cole stood in the doorway behind him, letting out a slow sigh through his nose before he closed the door.

     Jareth turned in the swivel chair to inspect the room, his hands on his lap and his legs crossed. There was a leather couch in front of a table lined with sandwiches and biscuits, a rack of clothing options for Jareth, and a lonesome armchair. The room was vacant, he was alone.

     Months ago, a young woman with a black bob cut stood in her bullet bra and pencil skirt in front of Jareth. She had breathed quickly like a prey animal, looking as frightened as Jareth despite her boldness to reveal her shoulders, collarbones, and stomach to him. She had been beautiful to Jareth.

     When her face grew red and she fled the room tearful, Jareth had wished in that moment that perhaps he had pursued her. That he had gotten up to seize her. If Jareth were to stand and rush her, beginning to take off his belt and undo his shirt, would she have been happy?

     He did not desire her, not intimately. He didn't know her, and in many ways, she knew Jareth even less. If they had attempted to be intimate, she would find that Jareth was unable to perform. Perhaps that would have embarrassed her more.

     Jareth felt that any other man- that was not him- would have made the correct decision, and the young woman would not have been embarrassed.

     Cole and Jareth stood side by side backstage, Cole with his arms crossed and Jareth with his hands in his pockets. The crowd would laugh and coo according to Henry Darling’s ques, all in unison.

     When Jareth was introduced by Henry Darling and the crowd clapped, he stepped out and stared into the audience, standing just beside the wing. After Cole motioned for him to continue, he walked to the leather armchair just beside Henry Darling’s desk and sat down with his hands in his lap. He then crossed his legs, still looking at the audience while they clapped.

     When they stopped clapping and the room fell silent, Jareth looked at Henry, who was waiting for a response.

     “Pardon?” Jareth asked, and the audience laughed.

     Henry gave a toothy grin, looking at one of the cameras.

     “He's a little shy, this one.” He said. “I asked, how are you?”

     “Oh, rather uhm, rather frightened.” Jareth replied, digging the tip of his
shoe into the thin carpeted flooring. Everyone laughed.

     “Haha, is that right? Well we’re glad to have you, you’re in the charts this month, are you a happy man?”

     “Uh… No.” He said, and the audience laughed.

    “No?” Henry asked. “Now Jareth, we’re all quite happy to see you’re newest album high in the charts this month, but I must ask-”

     “You must.”

     “Yes, I must ask if it is true you won't be touring it.”

     “Oh uhm,” Jareth shifted in his seat, watching the floor while he drew a smiley-face on the carpet with his shoe. “I haven't got uhm, well, I haven't got the slightest idea.”

     “You haven't?” Henry Darling repeated.

     “I just follow everyone.” He said, and the audience laughed. Jareth did not know why.

     “Well touring or not, we are more than happy to be hearing music from you again, especially with such…” Henry brought Jareth’s new album up from under his desk, opening the record cover art to show the audience and cameras,
“interesting cover art.”

     The crowd laughed, and a chunky camera with a red glowing dot turned to have a closer look at the cover art. It depicted Jareth in the nude- politely covered enough- sitting criss-cross while surrounded by a variety of puppets. The camera then turned to Jareth’s face.

     “Now, Jareth, you are a collector of sorts, is that right?” Henry asked.

     “I am a hoarder… Yes, a hoarder is what you would call it.”

     The audience laughed.

     “Haha, yes, are all of these puppets yours?”

     “Oh, yes.” Jareth said, nodding once.

     “Where do you keep them all?”

     “In my house. My bedroom.”

     The audience laughed.

     “Oh but not in your room, how is it that you sleep?” Henry asked.

     “Quite well.” Jareth replied.

     The audience laughed.

     Jareth did not know why the audience laughed, as he had not said anything funny. He picked at his nails and drew on the carpet with his shoe.

     “What is it you’re making there in my carpet?” Henry asked, leaning over the desk.

     “A face.” Jareth replied, adjusting himself once more in the squeaky leather armchair.

     “That's rather good.” Henry replied.

     The audience laughed.


     That late evening, Jareth was sitting on the balcony just outside of his room where two cushioned chairs were perched by the edge so he could see his garden. A pebbled path disappeared under the dense area of willow trees and thick bushes blooming with white flowers. In the far distance he could hear the trickling of the fountain at the center of the garden, but he could not see it. When the bitter wind blew, the low hanging leaves from the willows would rustle.

     “Evening.” Cole said, stepping out onto the balcony with a wine glass for himself. “Your birthday is coming up, I was thinking you host something.” Cole sat down in the chair next to Jareth, sinking into the cushions. He set his glass down on the coffee table between them. He was still in his dress pants and a white button up, his tie loosened. “Nigel says we ought to have a holiday, hah.” Cole said, then cleared his throat. “We could have an event at the island, perhaps. Something rather… Groovy.”

      “Are you celebrating?” Jareth asked.

     “Why yes, I certainly will be.”

     “Not, uhm, not my birthday. Your birthday.”

     “Well, there isn't much of a difference, now is there.” Cole responded shortly, checking his watch. “We’ve got photographers coming in the morning, around 7:00 for the uhm, the promotion photos.”

     Jareth had his cheek resting against his hand and his legs curled underneath himself on the chair. He gazed at Cole, his eyes drawn to a red spot peaking over the collar of Cole’s shirt. Cole had been dawning red lipstick marks on his neck in the evening. Jareth had yet to ask him, and likely would not ask tonight.
As Cole went on about tomorrow’s schedule, Jareth continued to stare at the spot on Cole’s neck, recognizing that the origin was not from Cole’s wife. Ex wife.

     Something was very wrong with Jareth.

     “A young woman took off her top in my dressing room.” Jareth said.

     “What?” Cole asked, his head fully turning to look at Jareth.

     “A young woman was in my dressing room.”

     “This morning?” Cole sat up.

     “No. Uhm, I think she was very young, really.” Jareth said in a mutter, gazing out into the garden. “She got in before I was there.”

     “When?”

     “Oh, uhm, the American tour.”

     Cole’s hand gripped the armrest of his chair, his eyes wide and his brows furrowed as he stared at his brother.

     “Why the hell hadn’t you told me? Oh- for god sakes Jareth, you didn't touch her, did you?”

     Jareth shook his head no.

     “Oh- thank god.” He said, leaning back into his chair again with a hand on his head. He was ruffled, feathers all puffed up. “How old was she?”

     “I wish I had.”

     “Jareth.” Cole scolded. “Why would you say that? Don't say that.”

     “I think there's something wrong with me.” Jareth replied.

     Cole said nothing.

     “If I had touched her, she would have not been, uhm, embarrassed. I think uhm,... Any other lad would have touched her. I think something is wrong with me.”

     “Might you think that you're…?” Cole asked, not daring to say the word.

     “I dont think I’m anything.”

     Cole and Jareth sat together while the willow trees rustled, the fountain trickled, and Cole twisted his wedding ring.

     “You’ve never slept with a fan?” Cole asked.

     Jareth looked up at Cole, and Cole looked away. Jareth said nothing.

    “Jareth, you’ll settle down with a woman. Perhaps you'll be friends.” Cole said, then sighed through his nose.

     “I dont think so.”

     “Enough of that. I won't have it” Cole said, then took a sip from his glass. “Now, the photographers.”