Down With Love
Chapter 3
It wasn’t until three am, after an amazing show and a great night of drinking, that the boys and I stumbled into the bus; Syn and Matt with the twins in tow. All of them had their girlfriends with them, actually, except me, simply for the lack of existence of one. Sure, I drunkenly made out with what I think was one of the Millionaire clones, but I obviously couldn’t be certain. Not only do they all look the same, but all their fans look like them too. Oh well, whoever she was, she wasn’t bad looking, and I was lonely. I was the last onto the bus, and I had barely made it up the top step when I wound up face to face with a scowling Anna.
“Ohhh the little pussycat’s gotten feisty?!” I shouted, simply laughing at her and pushing her aside. I told you I was drunk. She screeched, and grabbed at my arm, her long nails digging into my skin. I shouted and shook my arm, but she didn’t let go. “What the fuck’s your problem, little kitty-cat?!” I demanded angrily, but still laughing. Must be the booze.
“You are!” Anna loosened her grip slightly, but was still holding my arm furiously. “What the fuck do you think you were playing at today, ruining an awesome show?!”
I took advantage of her loosening her hand, and took a slight step backwards, bemused. The dizziness was kicking in a bit. “W-what?” I sputtered. “I didn’t fuck up the drums?” I asked.
“No, not your set,” she told me, aggravated. “The Millionaires!” she sneered at me. “I was watching that show!” I laughed at the fact that anyone could be seriously watching it, and it made her squeeze my arm hard again. “She was brave enough to go onstage despite the fact that she sprained her ankle like five minutes before the show! And then you, you and Val, you were complete assholes to her!” much to my surprise, Anna was actually starting to cry. “For Christ’s sake, I thought you were bad enough this morning, when all I did was say hello and you were awful! But that girl’s in the hospital now, thanks to you and that skank. Shit, if Val weren’t practically my cousin at this point I’d be screaming at her now too,” She pulled me down so my face was level with hers. “I hope she presses charges and kicks your ass in court, you lanky, shit-faced bastard,” Anna spat, before letting me go, kicking me in the groin, and going to her bunk. All I could think was ‘all that over a shitty chick band.’ That is, until the shirt she’d been wearing fell from her bunk onto the floor. Then, a whole new range of thoughts filled my head. Gah. I hate that feeling of hating someone more than anything in the world, but still wanting to screw their brains out. I sighed, and after managing to pull myself up off the floor, I went to the couch and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
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I was woken up at nine am sharp the next morning to someone shaking my shoulders. I let out a groan as headache pangs immediately hit. Whoever it was shoved an aspirin into my hand, and I opened my eyes, to see Anna there. “What do you want?” I grumbled, trying not to throw up. I closed my eyes, blinded by the bright sunlight flooding into the bus. I felt a glass of water get put into my other hand. “Thanks,” I said quietly, and took the aspirin, before downing the rest of the water. “What do you want?” I repeated, sitting up against the pillows and opening my eyes a bit again.
“The other merch girl’s sick, food poisoning,” She explained. “I need someone to help me with the booth. Plus, sales quadruple if someone from the band’s there,” she told me.
“Why me?” I asked, holding out the glass. She took it, and went back to the kitchen area of the bus to fill it up once more.
“Matt’s gone out on a date with Val, it’s their anniversary,” Anna called back from the front of the bus. Before I could open my mouth to ask about any of the others, she spoke as if reading my mind. “Brian and Zacky are doing some interview on playing guitar. And before you ask, Johnny didn’t even come in last night. So you were the last resort.” She stormed back over with my water, and I drank it even faster than the first glass, which was a bad idea.
The sound of Anna’s laughing made the immediate headache I got even worse. I lifted my hand to slap her, but missed, and ended up swatting her in the side.
“Come on, Sullivan,” Anna muttered icily. “I need to open half an hour ago.” It took me a while to get my head around that, but when I realized what she meant I finally groaned, and stood up slowly to try and prevent a blood-rush headache. I failed. But I put on a shirt, and followed the obviously-PMSing, bitchy, sexy- NO- asshole! Anna!
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We worked at the stand together until noon. We barely talked, and when we did it was in icy tones, glaring: it was obvious to even the passing fans how much tension there was between Anna and I. My thoughts kept drifting around, were so muddled. I tried to keep the rhythm, keep things methodical. Ask what they want, give them the shirt, get the cash, and smile for a photo. Ask what they want, give them the shirt, get the cash, and smile for a photo. Ask what they want, give them the- I think you get the point. But I just couldn’t do it, I couldn’t quite fall into the monotony that is selling t-shirts. Every time I looked up, broke concentration, I saw Anna. And every time I saw Anna, well… as much as I absolutely loathe her, the situation was getting worse by the minute.
“I have to go,” I excused myself, and left before she could even open her mouth to reply. I felt a bit bad, maybe, for leaving her alone with the lunchtime rush of customers. But she deserved it, for waking me up at nine when she knew perfectly well I’d have a hangover. I quickly rushed from the stand, with only one destination in mind: a cold shower.
“Ohhh the little pussycat’s gotten feisty?!” I shouted, simply laughing at her and pushing her aside. I told you I was drunk. She screeched, and grabbed at my arm, her long nails digging into my skin. I shouted and shook my arm, but she didn’t let go. “What the fuck’s your problem, little kitty-cat?!” I demanded angrily, but still laughing. Must be the booze.
“You are!” Anna loosened her grip slightly, but was still holding my arm furiously. “What the fuck do you think you were playing at today, ruining an awesome show?!”
I took advantage of her loosening her hand, and took a slight step backwards, bemused. The dizziness was kicking in a bit. “W-what?” I sputtered. “I didn’t fuck up the drums?” I asked.
“No, not your set,” she told me, aggravated. “The Millionaires!” she sneered at me. “I was watching that show!” I laughed at the fact that anyone could be seriously watching it, and it made her squeeze my arm hard again. “She was brave enough to go onstage despite the fact that she sprained her ankle like five minutes before the show! And then you, you and Val, you were complete assholes to her!” much to my surprise, Anna was actually starting to cry. “For Christ’s sake, I thought you were bad enough this morning, when all I did was say hello and you were awful! But that girl’s in the hospital now, thanks to you and that skank. Shit, if Val weren’t practically my cousin at this point I’d be screaming at her now too,” She pulled me down so my face was level with hers. “I hope she presses charges and kicks your ass in court, you lanky, shit-faced bastard,” Anna spat, before letting me go, kicking me in the groin, and going to her bunk. All I could think was ‘all that over a shitty chick band.’ That is, until the shirt she’d been wearing fell from her bunk onto the floor. Then, a whole new range of thoughts filled my head. Gah. I hate that feeling of hating someone more than anything in the world, but still wanting to screw their brains out. I sighed, and after managing to pull myself up off the floor, I went to the couch and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
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I was woken up at nine am sharp the next morning to someone shaking my shoulders. I let out a groan as headache pangs immediately hit. Whoever it was shoved an aspirin into my hand, and I opened my eyes, to see Anna there. “What do you want?” I grumbled, trying not to throw up. I closed my eyes, blinded by the bright sunlight flooding into the bus. I felt a glass of water get put into my other hand. “Thanks,” I said quietly, and took the aspirin, before downing the rest of the water. “What do you want?” I repeated, sitting up against the pillows and opening my eyes a bit again.
“The other merch girl’s sick, food poisoning,” She explained. “I need someone to help me with the booth. Plus, sales quadruple if someone from the band’s there,” she told me.
“Why me?” I asked, holding out the glass. She took it, and went back to the kitchen area of the bus to fill it up once more.
“Matt’s gone out on a date with Val, it’s their anniversary,” Anna called back from the front of the bus. Before I could open my mouth to ask about any of the others, she spoke as if reading my mind. “Brian and Zacky are doing some interview on playing guitar. And before you ask, Johnny didn’t even come in last night. So you were the last resort.” She stormed back over with my water, and I drank it even faster than the first glass, which was a bad idea.
The sound of Anna’s laughing made the immediate headache I got even worse. I lifted my hand to slap her, but missed, and ended up swatting her in the side.
“Come on, Sullivan,” Anna muttered icily. “I need to open half an hour ago.” It took me a while to get my head around that, but when I realized what she meant I finally groaned, and stood up slowly to try and prevent a blood-rush headache. I failed. But I put on a shirt, and followed the obviously-PMSing, bitchy, sexy- NO- asshole! Anna!
----------
We worked at the stand together until noon. We barely talked, and when we did it was in icy tones, glaring: it was obvious to even the passing fans how much tension there was between Anna and I. My thoughts kept drifting around, were so muddled. I tried to keep the rhythm, keep things methodical. Ask what they want, give them the shirt, get the cash, and smile for a photo. Ask what they want, give them the shirt, get the cash, and smile for a photo. Ask what they want, give them the- I think you get the point. But I just couldn’t do it, I couldn’t quite fall into the monotony that is selling t-shirts. Every time I looked up, broke concentration, I saw Anna. And every time I saw Anna, well… as much as I absolutely loathe her, the situation was getting worse by the minute.
“I have to go,” I excused myself, and left before she could even open her mouth to reply. I felt a bit bad, maybe, for leaving her alone with the lunchtime rush of customers. But she deserved it, for waking me up at nine when she knew perfectly well I’d have a hangover. I quickly rushed from the stand, with only one destination in mind: a cold shower.