Scattered

"Damn it, why'd this have to happen?"

There I stood—well, paced—in the diminutive kitchen of mine and Candie's suite, my mind currently inhabiting a nuclear war between the upsides and downsides of this newly received information.

Currently, my shoulder angel was losing miserably to my shoulder devil, which kept reminding me of the word, "karma". With choosing between the very small possibility of somehow forcing Billie to remember who I was and running away to Cuba, you decide which one was the best option.

I was such a pessimist.

"This is just my luck: I finally manage to settle in—a steady job and everything—and something like this just pops up out of nowhere." I placed my hands on the surface of the counter, facing in the opposite direction of Candie, who was positively determined to get away from my ramblings. "I bet this is karma," I glared pointedly at my left shoulder, causing Candie to raise a curious eyebrow.

Not only was I pessimist, but I was also a soon-to-be inhabitant of a cell in the nearest asylum.

"Yeah, this is karma alright – I run away from home; from all of my troubles, and this is karma biting me in the ass." I nodded to myself, falling a bit closer to the brink of insanity. "This is just great," I murmured, my face obtaining a sudden pale complexion at the mere thought of those familiar green, penetrating eyes gazing back at me, completely clueless as to who I was.

As if I was just another face in the crowd.

"Who are you? You look so familiar, but I can't seem to place your name."

"I'm just another face in the crowd."

A growl emitted from deep within my chest. "What was I thinking? I shouldn't have given him that idea! I am very important to him. I am not a nobody." Youused to be very important to him. And 'not' a nobody? Honey, without him, you might as well be.

I scowled. "I think I've finally touched bottom. Rock fucking bottom."

The sound of footsteps echoed throughout the rather quiet kitchen with small scrapes against the tile flooring. I paid no mind – quite frankly, my thoughts were very much elsewhere. A voice, who I could only assume had a connection with said footsteps, produced a weary cough, as if something like that would gain my attention.

"Beth..."

"I mean, this probably would have never happened if I'd have just stayed in Rodeo. Or, better yet, I could've gotten back together with Chase and, after finally graduating, we both could've moved to Miami." A grin eased its way onto my lips, though not much emotion was put into the slight muscle spasm. "Yeah, that could've been great. Hell, we could've been married by now. We sorted out our differences, it would've worked out eventually."

"Beth..."

"He would've made everything so much easier. And we still talk over the phone; I could find a way to bring him down here, maybe give him another chance... God only knows he deserves it." My eyes wandered from my chipped red nail polish to the window I hadn't realized I'd been standing in front of, scanning the parking lot that occupied the back of the hotel, though not really seeing it. I found myself nodding a second time. "Yeah, yeah, that'd be perfect. I don't need Billie in my life."

HAH!!!

I jumped at the volume of my own thoughts, though knew the truth behind it. With the hilarity of the statement, I could just picture myself slapping my knee, almost as if it were a joke.

"Elizabeth—"

The person behind me was completely ignored. "I don't need this. I'm moving again. Except this time, hopefully out of the United States... where they can't follow. I'll move to Alaska." A thought suddenly occurred to me and I imagined a light bulb appearing brightly lit over my head, screaming epiphany! "Mike and Tre are probably behind this. I bet they set this entire trip up." Do you honestly think they'd start a United States tour just to piss you off? Come on, you're notthat special. I could reason with that. "They planned the Miami portion of the tour, then."

"Spencer Rae Monroe, you listen to me right this minute!"

My eyes widened and I spun on my heels to face the blonde-haired girl, whose face was about as red as a ripe tomato. For a moment there, I had completely forgotten she was in the room. Or even existed, for that matter.

She inhaled for a moment, as if speaking that simple sentence had caused her immense amounts of stress. "Now, if you'll let me speak," she took the given opportunity to glower at me, mid sentence. "I'd like to say that you're taking this entire situation a bit too far." She paused for a moment before continuing, the look on my face suggesting she should expand a bit on that theory. "I mean, I understand that you're shocked he's going to be here, but does that mean the world has to end because of it?"

Um, yes? Don't you know me?

"Just because they're going to be in Miami, doesn't necessarily mean that they'll be coming here. You know, to this hotel? Or even in this area? It's very unlikely, honey."

By the way she was staring at me, I could tell she was daring me to retaliate. With her arms crossed over her chest in such a way, despite her petite frame and overall small size, she appeared quite menacing. The only explanation I could make was that I was annoying her in some way.

What she said did happen to make sense, though. There were many resorts and hotels to choose from in Miami, what were the odds that they'd choose this one out of the rest? If I was living and working here, it couldn't have been anything special.

"But," I sighed, fighting to urge to pound my foot against the tile like a child. "But this is all wrong. You don't understand." I reduced my whining to a minimum, knowing that I'd only aggravate the girl across from me, and dealing with her irritation would only add to my current problems.

Candie made her way towards me with an encouraging smile. "I can't empathize, but I can sympathize." She placed her hands upon my shoulders, patting them. "I know this is going to be difficult to handle, but try not thinking about it. You don't have to run away from everything, just try to avoid it as much as possible. You're only going to stress yourself out when you worry about it, and stressing will only make matters worse. Not just because of this situation in particular, but it could affect your job and your life altogether."

I weighed my options – try not fussing over the issue and unofficially move on or work my nerves to the very core and earn very little sleep at night. The dark attitude of not getting any sleep the night before wasn't a problem, considering I was rather used to it. But my nerves had been on edge enough as it was and I figured they deserved a break in the very least.

"Now," Candie must've taken my silence as an agreement to her statement. "I know I can't solve all of your problems for you. But, as for the moment and as far as numbing the blow comes, I've got a carton of ice cream and old movies available." She whipped a container of vanilla ice cream and a spoon out of nowhere for further emphasis and I wondered where she must've gotten it.

I grinned.


"My life's over," My right hand was placed beneath my chin as the elbow for said hand was resting comfortably on the surface of the bar the following day.

After a night of watching reruns of old television shows that were no longer aired and snippets of the dreaded forty-year-old Seven Brides for Seven Brothers musical, I found myself passing through my sorrowful stage with flying colors. Well, not so much as colors, but it flew nonetheless. Somewhere. And hopefully never to return.

"Now, now, none of that." Candie scolded from my left, rearranging the glasses according to height for her own entertainment. "No more moping for you. You had ice cream. Ice cream is the ultimate cure for moping and hopelessly depressing moments." She stated, speaking as though she were an open book, full of knowledgeable answers.

My eyelids fell over my hazel irises for a moment as I inhaled the honey and cinnamon scent of my shampoo. At that very moment, I was at ease – at peace with the world. It felt as though, in that simple second of tranquility, my muscles relaxed—if only a bit—and I found my head to no longer be spinning and instead my thoughts were keeping up an acceptable pace.

Now if only it could always be like this.

I reopened my eyes, meeting nothing more than the double glass doors, leading out into the unnaturally bright and cheerful afternoon. I had a feeling mother nature was doing this on purpose.

"No, no, I'm not moping," I shook my head, though put little care into my words. "Just stating the facts." I lazily slumped further against the counter, wanting nothing more than to fall into a dreamless sleep.

As expected, I hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. But what little sleep I did manage to catch, it was calm and very dreamless. A kind of sleep that I wish I could receive more of, though knew it was nearly impossible.

"No," she reprimanded, now taking to rearranging the shot glasses, though I couldn't really keep up with a particular pattern since they all looked the same. She, however, appeared as though she were doing some sort of math with them and placing random glasses in very random places above the counter. "Your life isn't over. What about that man at the check out in front of isle four at the supermarket? Too much eye candy for just one simple boy," she giggled at the pun she so cleverly inserted into that statement, acting like she had done something so clever she even surprised herself.

I tiredly rolled my eyes, not having a clue as to who she was talking about—because I wasn't exactly one for memorizing baggers at convenient stores—but didn't mention the fact in hopes that she'd drop the subject altogether.

"Hey, think of it this way," Candie turned her full attention to me and I came to realize she had put the shot glasses together in an order than formed the outer shape of a guitar. I'm sure she did that on purpose, too. "Your life is a lot more interesting than some. Be thankful you actually lead an eventful life."

"Oh yeah," I rolled my eyes a second time. "I'm really on my hands and knees in gratitude right now."

I directed my attention elsewhere, though nothing really struck my attention.

That is, until I saw them.

A head of green hair I couldn't miss, even if the room was crowded to its maximum capacity. A tall, lanky brunette with his hair still styled into the 80's fashion and a head of blue hair that, even though wasn't fully familiar, I knew of only one boy who would experiment with such vibrant colors.

Tre was the first who caught my eye, only because he seemed to be walking in a sort of skip. I came to realize his face – slender and freshly shaven. His age was clearly shown in his facial features, but three years had surely done him well. Just by the large, wolfish grin plastered onto his lips, I could easily tell he was the same old Tre.

Mike, who had grown at least another two inches, towered over the figures he stood next to and passed by on his way through the doorway of the resort. His large head of hair sported a set of hardly visible highlights, and I could only figure they were natural. After all, the bassist was never one for dying his hair in the first place. His face also represented a much more petite frame, but I couldn't say I was surprised. Needless to say, he also aged well.

Next, I finally saw him. Dressed in a casual pair of black jeans that were at least two sizes small for him that he probably wore often in high school, fully black converses covering his feet, a red shirt appearing between the closed buttons his black jacket hid and the necklace obtaining a guitar pick he was known for hanging casually around his neck. The eyes – they were the first things I noticed. A brilliant shade of green, which suggested he was in a very happy mood. The grin – large, as heart-melting and knee-weakening as ever. And his fairly neon blue hair caused him to stick out like a sore thumb in such a pastel room.

But oh, that wasn't what caused my jaw to plummet. Sure, it had formed a near perfect "o" in the process of seeing all three of them, but what really caused my face to turn a vital shade of blue at the fact that my breath had caught in my throat was the simple observation of seeing not three of them, but four.

And it had everything to do with Billie. Because he wasn't alone.