I'd Kiss You Goodbye If I Thought It Would Make You Stay

“I am so guilty, but you are so pretty. Real bad is what I've got. I'm at the bottom. You're at the top. A shade of skin that shows no mercy. Your lips are a sunset that sets over me and only me.” – Socratic

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Today is it.

Tour.

Just thinking about it puts me in the best mood I’ve been in for the past six or seven months combined.

It’s about four am, and I’m the only one that’s actually alive, since I drank half a Monster about thirty minutes ago.

I’m helping Wes and the rest of the crew load all the stuff onto the bus, while my band mates are practically falling asleep on Wes and Jude’s front steps.

I’m singing our songs under my breath because on stage tomorrow night is just too long to wait, and I’m too hyped up and excited to see the guys and I can’t sit still.

An hour or so later, we’re finally on the road, and I’m talking excitedly to anyone that will listen to my nonsense, which happens to be Suzie, Seb, and Wes.

“No one give her anymore Monster,” Suzie moans, rubbing her head. I stick my tongue out at her childishly, but she’s not paying any attention.

Jude and most of our small crew have already gone back to sleep in the bunks we had all claimed upon entering the bus.

Suzie says she can’t fall back asleep once she’s up, and I’ve given Seb the rest of my Monster, so he’s about as hyper as I am. Wes is falling asleep at the small table.

By the time everyone’s up again, Suzie’s looking at me like she’s going to murder me in my bunk tonight, even though Seb and I are calmer than we had been a few hours ago.

I manage to get a card game going between Seb, Jude, and our tech/merch dude, but it’s only half an hour later and we’re already bored.

“This is going to be a long day,” Suzie mutters under her breath.

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It has been a long day, but we’re finally at the venue for the show tomorrow night, and even though I’ve been awake since three this morning, I feel like I won’t be able to sleep.

We hop off the bus to stretch our legs to see that The Academy Is…’s bus is already here.

Butcher glides over to us on his scooter, even though it’s getting dark out by now.

“Andy, what are you doing?” Suzie asks him in confusion.

“It’s freaking scooter time!” he replies, circling us. (Don’t ask.)

We leave him and his scooter be and invade the T.A.I. bus because they most likely have more food than us, considering they have more band and crew members than we do.

Michael comes out of their bus just as I’m about to enter.

“Will you walk with me?” he asks, shutting the door behind him, seeing as everyone had already gone back inside. (Excluding the Butcher and his scooter, that is.)

“Sure,” I answer, falling into step with him. He shoves his hands in his pockets as we walk in the opposite direction of the busses.

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Michael

“So…” I begin carefully. I glance sideways at her only to see her looking back curiously. “I listened to the album,” I finish, a bit nervously. I open my mouth to say something else, but my throat is dry from anxiety and I’m not even sure what else I was going to say.

“What did you think?” she prods, when I don’t continue.

“It was great. You’re all talented, and you know I think you’re amazing,” I tell her, an understatement. She frowns, and I know it’s because she’s not fishing for the compliments I’m giving her. Then she opens her mouth, but I interrupt so I can spit out what I’ve been waiting to ask. “It’s just…I was wondering…if the songs are…about me?” I ask finally, hoping my apprehensive tone doesn’t betray me.

“A couple,” she answers honestly. She looks at me again, and I feel uneasy. “You want specifics, don’t you?” she asks me, and all I can do is helplessly shrug. “I only ever wrote about missing you, Michael. I never wrote anything bad or that wasn’t true,” she informs me, reaching over to squeeze my hand for reassurance. I nod, letting out an inaudible sigh of relief.

“I was just worried…that you hated me after,” I confess, watching the ground as we walk. I pause before speaking again. “Because I…I really hated myself.” I catch her glance at me in surprise.

“I couldn’t hate you even if I wanted to,” she states, and we fall silent.

“Rae, I know you want time, and I’m perfectly alright with that,” I blurt out suddenly, a few minutes later. “I just want to know what it is. I mean, if you don’t trust me anymore, I completely understand, I just-”

“I trust you,” she assures me, idly interrupting my rambling.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t trust myself,” she says, and we walk back to the busses, hand in hand, because we’re not sure what else needs to be said.