Sonata

If you've never been on the run from the police, it's probably difficult to imagine the paranoia felt on a daily basis, or the neverending thoughts and functioning nightmares while your eyes are open over thinking how life could potentially end; how you could be put in a jail cell to never come out. You begin to find the beauty of everything surrounding you, no matter if it be leaves or bark or the same blue shade seen in the sky that manages to get old after such repetition.

When on the edge of death or confinement, repetition vanishes, because one might never see something again.

Someone would gain a baby's vision and become hypnotized by all the small things they barely breathed past. It's a horrifying slap in the face to realize that your freedom is on thin ice and you're the fatass daring enough to try to walk across it.

Once The Wilcom Newsletter and many other publications and broadcasts had released information on the more violent breakout of metal music, Tom was absolutely furious with his brother for conjuring up such a brainless idea, and even worse, going through with it. He couldn't believe that a decently smart guy like Oli actually considered a plan so utterly stupid, but more so he was mad that he agreed to take part.

Oli wasn't the one to give the CDs to all those kids, Tom was; Oli only created them and opened the cardboard edition of Pandora's Box.

The Sykes Brothers were both to blame, and not too deep down, Tom was ashamed of himself for allowing the brown-eyed giant to manipulate him into doing his dirty work so easily. He was most at risk for being the distributor; his face was the one people recognized in first getting the CD and would no doubtedly be described to the cops by one or more kids that have been taken into custody and offered a plea bargain for telling the names of the bigger fish: him and the rest of Bring Me The Horizon.

His fragile being wasn't as strong as Oli's, and if ever put into handcuffs would weep like a baby who just witnessed its mother's slaughter. He was scared out of his wits, and even though very pissed off at his brother, still wanted him to protect him. Oli would do that, of course, because he knew this was how his brother would be feeling; he knew that he needed to be the unspoken guardian.

Their parents would not be able to help in this situation.

The police were searching vigorously for any new leads to somewhat fall into their lap so they could stop the madness that was shaking up Wilcom and any other city within close proximity. The band were on the borderline to being found out, and since so, became hermit-like to a larger degree during the day than before.

As Lee, Curtis, and both Matts were informed about what had happened secretly that night at the club, it was taken rather smoothly, to Tom's surprise. The looks on their faces held shock, but they didn't go ape shit like he did, and in that, sourly figured that anyone else in the same situation would have the same reactions as his friends: collected after being completely taken aback.

He was overreacting and needed to chill the fuck out.

The only other one in the band that quickly transformed into a more mild degree of Tom was Curtis, who's initial shock outlasted to the younger Sykes level and fear sunk like a rusted anchor in his stomach. The guitarist ended up quitting his job at the same grocery store where his fellow employee, Sam, got caught not too long previously.

"They ain' gonna get meh busted mate; I don' wanna risk it."
He mentioned again and again from the day he stopped going to work.

The other members understood at that time, but Curtis became so paranoid about getting arrested that he barely wanted to go out ever again to even check the mail for Carol and Ian. All he wanted to do anymore was sit on the couch or practically hide under the covers of his bed until music had become legal again, whenever that may be. When in the midst of cruising on by without giving regard to the laws he were breaking, Curtis could easily wave the finger at a mere mention of authority because they had no concept of what he and the boys were up to, but now that the law had become a blood hungry shark thirsty for the heavily wounded Bring Me The Horizon, he was petrified.

He wanted to join the Underground Railroad and escape from the hell-bound city limits. He wanted to walk off the plank of a sinking ship. He wanted to have the best of both worlds; to get to do as he pleased without the consequences to balance them out.

Very few people could get away with such benefits while the rest pay severely. It seemed so cowardly for Curtis to scamper away like a minuscule rodent while the rest of his peers remained on the front lines, but that must be how you separate the men from the boys.

People truly passionate about something will stand their ground no matter what. Martin Luther King, Jr. Rosa Parks. George Washington.
Again with every war in the world.
Again with resistance against the government.

There doesn't need to be a constant reminding of the intense strength of human willpower, for if anything, discussion should shine down on the weaknesses of the race. Much too often, people decide to pull out when they discover that the vagina they're fucking has teeth, metaphorically speaking.
Out of everything in the world, their real priority is themselves. They can preach about how their passions lie elsewhere, but really, when in danger they will do what any other breathing animal would: save their own hide.

It's only natural instinct, and surely something you would do as well, so really, is there room for criticism?

Curtis was brave enough to break the law for as long as he did, and had a good ride while it lasted. That's all it really was to him anyway; his true interests lied in the automobile industry, where his dream was to be a test driver. He always wanted to be assigned a different car frequently and told that he was supposed to give it a spin before the product was even on the market.

It was the sense of one of the most ultimate privileges, even though it ran the thin line of never ending delight and sudden death. If he ever had the chance, with a contract staring him back in the face right in front of him, the offer was for him to be a dummy in the front seat (strapped in even though inanimate), while speeding ahead 80 mph towards a brick wall.
Potentially.

He would put his life on the line everyday, but that held little water considering he did the same for much less. He was well aware of all the risks involved, but disregarded those negatives because if you love something, nothing along the way can sway you.
Common knowledge.

He wanted to drive possibly dangerous cars in the future, and as far as law goes in his mind, it was going to happen. Curtis' deteriorating abilities to see and hear were big demerits to achieving such a career, but it hadn't gotten badly enough for a watchdog or sign language; he could function at around hallway to the average meter, but twice as compromising, meaning he would be willing to scrub away at oil stains on the cement and pick up the shit his bosses left behind with his bare hands.

Would he be taken advantage of?
Most-likely.
Would he care?
Probably not.

Picture in your own fantasy, and you're given the lowest form of work. It is only the beginning, after all, so don't expect respect. Don't expect to be awarded with what is probably the highest position in that career field just because you think you have the biggest dose of determination; chances are you don't.

We all have the same drive, but it's how we use it that makes us different. The people who you report to will take advantage if you don't state your claim, so be strong. Curtis would do anything to feel a part of something he loved, and that was the problem.

When desperate, people will still take even though you think you have nothing left to offer.

There's your window to the world; your hast gaze into a reality microscope. Sometimes it takes individuals their entire lives of being fucked over and with only the bones that make their back (literally just feces and other bodily outputs to give) until they gain their obvious yet concealed logic and realize that some people's reassuring smiles hold an essence of Lucifer.

What the fuck do they live for then?
Nothing except regret and begs for time machines.

The higher power can even be cruel and morbid enough to kill you off as a certified lesson learned; you being sold out and left to deal with the consequences which could result in death. Maybe a tad bit overboard, but a definite, possible scenario. Humans always assume that they are immortal, and any sorts of disease and/or tragic coincidence of wrong place wrong time happen to anyone but themselves. They will live a somewhat happy life and die of, you know, natural causes and shit.

Before you look through the peephole and become face-to-face with the Grim Reaper.

Why me, I've never done anything to anyone, I still have a long life to live, etc. etc.

This force over your pulse is absolute; neutral, and cannot comprehend to empathize with a nothing like yourself. It takes the last thing you could ever give: your life. Even the last act of your existence can't be your's, unless of course you consider the alternative: suicide.

By pulling over a chair to under where you made the noose, or keep the car running in your cluttered garage, stick a hunk of metal between your teeth, or even have the gal to jump from fatal heights, you could shoot death the middle finger and pull the trigger yourself. This could be done for numerous upon numerous reasons, but one that the camera will zoom in on is possession of control.

Some people are so weak and have had nothing for themselves, and feeling utterly powerless, miserable, and so out of control with their lives, they just want one thing to be theirs, and putting a bullet past your teeth seems to be the only standing option. They've been sucked dry of all personality that makes them human and roam like walking shells; going day by day wishing for a drastic change til they realize they had that power they've been so desperately searching for is in their hands.

Not only can they tell the Reaper to go fuck himself, but the world too. They were the ones with the last laugh and can finally be freed from their weakness. Not that this even has a real point to anything; no one in the band was feeling powerless and desired the need to choke on pills, but only just rambling that could play a big part later on.

Bring Me The Horizon was, blatantly, falling to shambles with everyday that went by and every show completed; it was becoming progressively difficult to ensure full participation from its members, or more specifically Curtis, Tom, and Oli's girlfriend.
The three felt like profusely bleeding blind humans in a sea of vicious and hungry great whites with the current journeys in the van to a place where the cops were trying to sniff out.

They had always been outlaws, but it was magnified because authorities didn't have reason or sense of direction. Now that they had been exposed, it was a real danger, like swimming in the ocean knowing there are sharks and only getting out when someone yells that one is nearby.

Ignorance is bliss and a great confidence boost.

It was only one more night to add onto their criminal record if ever convicted, but chronologically, another 2 weeks after the release of the cds. It had taken close to a miracle to get everyone in the van for yet another time, and would probably take Lee's left arm to accomplish it again. With the help of Matt Kean, the two were forced to "assist" their other guitarist to the vehicle, which could be translated to picking him up by the limbs and pulling him over; Nicholls, Evelyn, and Tom following close behind, and Oli the last one in line with a flask to his lips.

He barely reflected his inner emotions unless in intimate moments with his girlfriend; the only way it was becoming clearly obvious is the much larger intake of alcohol. This stoop in his life was watched by his friends and parents, but none of them had gathered the balls to confront him. They figured it was going to happen more sooner than later considering that he barely drunk except at house parties, which were now in short supply because of this introduction to totalitarianism.

His body was tensing and in desperate lust to get wasted and forget like it used to so many occasions ago.
His brain desired to be fuzzy with no recollections.
His limbs needed to feel like jello.

Oli even missed the deep bruises and cuts he would acquire while lightly intoxicated. He gulped more Jack from the container in his hands and remembered the dark purple and yellow bruise by his hip when he ran into the corner of a freezer as he realized that an even more drunken Curtis had a hold of a few darts. In his dazed mind, the singer was thoroughly convinced that he would be stabbed by the speeding spear. Another friend who was sober the same night and witnessed the entire thing told Oli the next morning when he wondered how he had received such an ugly bruise.

He missed instances like this one even though he suffered irritating pain, and honestly wanted nothing but to relive such an easier past when there was no need to be brave and the only rebellion he had to face was of the legal kind through vodka.

Music and drinking and letting loose was by choice; he wasn't taking a risk except on his own body, but now in order to do the same things, he had to stay cautious.

Times had changed, and that was enough to get him on the bottle again.

Evelyn had been watching her lover's downward spiral as the news grew bigger and bigger and the search for, essentially himself, was locally aware. All there could be left to do was for authorities to offer a reward as motivation towards the arrests of the band members and they would be sold out by at least one "fan" instantly.
They honestly didn't have much faith in them when a matter of money was involved; no one should, for it is the core of evil in men.
It is the one exception to trust and secrecy.

Oli wasn't an idiot; in fact, he was anything but. He knew this potential scenario was well on its way and didn't try to push it out of his mind because getting rid of it was naive and stupid. He would just get caught faster, and he still had plans and such before his end could arrive. He was playing it smart: staying as calm as he could and doing what he did best.

If he and the boys made a huge scene by quitting their jobs all at once and leaving town to never be heard from again...it would be obvious. They would just continue to play a couple more shows until it became too dangerous and then gently disappear. Although it was hard for all of them to follow in the somewhat tranquil footsteps of their bona-fide leader, a little assistance circulated would ensure that everyone would hop on board.

"I don' wanna go, alrigh'?! We're gonna get snuffed out 'er some'fing!"

"Chill out mate, no one's gettin' arrested tonight."

Kean was the only one out of Lee and himself making an effort to console Curtis' fears; the other guitarist just pulled at his friend's limb even harder, trying to get to the van quicker. In his mind, there was no negotiating to be done at this point; only hardcore, savage force and, wishfully desiring, duct tape to shut him up.

Matt took the kinder approach with words, but it was only proving that that path was ineffective, for Curtis kept writhing from side to side and yelling; wanting to scramble back into the Sykes' house, weld the door shut, and never come out.

The remaining 4 beings left behind didn't assist their struggling friends in the fight to get him into the van either due to fear to intervene or pure laziness. Tom was right scared, with his icy eyes that gleamed in the moonlight popping out of their sockets, and Nicholls reached into his back pocket of his black, denim jeans for his pack of cigarettes that only had 3 more sticks ready to light up.

Evelyn was occupied herself with contending to grab her boyfriend's arm, who shyed away and continued taking large gulps of whiskey from his container that seemed to be a never ending oasis of alcohol.
She glanced at him, confused, and completely let go; he didn't even seem to notice.

This was not the first time that the couple were cold to one another, and that sentence could be revised even more to state that Oli was the only one with a blizzard of a force field encompassing him. In these past couple of weeks, after the CDs were released, after the cops were on the prowl, it was as though the stress and worry had taken so much of a toll on him that he actually lost a piece of himself.

The part of him that was playful and loving.

The loving aspect had barely showed before, and had only began to flourish when Evelyn came into his life, but then it shut off like a light switch. The electric bill was too high and couldn't be paid.
He didn't smile unless he was questioned about his sanity, and even then, it was fabricated. His natural aura of leadership, while he knew that he had to remain calm and in control, had downgraded to a weaker level.

That was partly the reason why the band had started to fail miserably; the essential structure of Bring Me The Horizon was based off of their singer, and if he was falling apart, then the magnificent base they had created would follow soon after. The members had tried almost everything in their power to suade him to normalcy, but nothing was helping the situation.

As the days dragged on, and as the nagging and sympathy and worry continued, it only became worse.
Oli picked up heavy drinking again.
He was distancing himself from his girlfriend.

Evelyn couldn't remember the last time that they had been like they had before with Oli being an expert in chivalry by holding open doors, guiding her to where he was headed, or initiating any sort of physical contact. She had observed that every time they kissed or merely hugged that she was the one to initiate the action, not he.

It was very worry some considering that Oli clung to his girlfriend like she was his oxygen and paraded her around as though she were the most glorious float of the parade. He was the dominant one in the relationship, but the roles had been reversed.

She didn't like it, and yet, she couldn't fix it.
How can you fix something that isn't your own?
Evelyn wasn't her boyfriend, and until the impossible day comes that she is, only he could find the solution.

For now, she could only be a passenger on one of the rare safety ships that got to watch the Titanic sink into the Atlantic.

Curtis was currently more than halfway towards the automobile; already by the Sykes' mailbox that still hadn't been checked for bills and junk mail. The atmosphere had withered into darkness early that day, leaving only surroundings to drop in hues and broken constellations. Night time was the only time the boys witnessed unless they pulled back the curtains and stared out their bedroom windows in the house earlier on. They weren't the type to play catch or go swimming on a hot summer's day; they could give a fuck about outdoor activities, especially now.

People already scrutinized them whenever they went out in public, and after a while, it becomes old and unrewarding. The sun wasn't enough payment to put themselves out there anymore, so they settled for being cooped up in a two-story household with television and a full refrigerator.

They had enough activity when they went out and performed; enough adrenaline to balance out the complete lack of kinetic energy throughout the daytime, so it was non-verbally agreed that there was no need for the outside world until the big ball of fire went down.

"Come on mate, I-I'll watch ova the 'ouse! Someone needs teh do tha' while everyone's gone, right?!"

"Nah Curt, yeh don't. Gettin' the van."

He was pulling every stunt in his power to be released and allowed to stay protected in a brick castle; away from all the evil knights that wanted to discover and destroy his Camelot. Curtis had become a real, what was known as, pussy.

Lee rolled his eyes at his friend's pathetic attempts, and pushed him roughly past the double doors of the vehicle and into the wide seat that could be occupied by 3 individuals. He didn't even wait for his co-guitarist to squeal in surprise before he slammed the doors shut and turned around towards his other peers; clapping his hands together and dusting them off as though he had just dealt with something dirty.

Curtis banged on the windows and yelled his head off before Lee lifted his foot up to kick the entrance while still keeping his attention straight ahead and bellowed:
"Shut it Ward, or I'll punch yer teef in."

Silence.

"Alrigh', 'e's ready teh go now."

It was said as though the petrified guy had voluntarily made his way towards the van and shut the doors himself; not like he was practically torn from his home and kidnapped by his friends. No one had anymore objections, and the night was young yet getting old, so they went past Lee and opened the hatches again. Curtis was either too exhausted or scared to try to run away, so he just sat there sadly as everyone crammed inside the vehicle and into their normal seats.

Oli and Evelyn in the back.
Curtis, Tom, and Kean in the middle.
Nicholls and Lee in the front.

Normally it would be Curtis in the front, but after his little charade that day, Lee took his place gladly. He rarely had the opportunity to sit by the driver, and frankly, he didn't know why. He had clearly shown that he could be an authority, but just didn't push his friend around as much as possibly satisfying.
He figured he should do it more often.

As Curtis crumbled into the corner of the seat, with no safety belt and only staring dejectedly out through the window, Nicholls and Malia glanced towards each other, shared a look, then Matt was putting the key in the ignition; causing the engine to roar to life.
They were off.

The van backed out of the long driveway, the Sykes' house dark and dead as its surroundings, left abandoned for only about an hour or so until Ian and Carol would arrive and park their car in the vehicle's place. The moon was full that night, and with a blank expression everyone in the car contemplated it (except the driver).

Clouds were moving oddly fast, which meant that rain was well on its way. No one in the van knew this sign meant downpour; it was just a cool sight to see. They were so fascinated by the weather than ever before, but it was due to the fact that they were never really using their vision before. It was as though they were viewing it for the first time, and as intriguing as it was, it was also regretful because it had been so long since they've seen the world with fresh eyes.

The radio was turned on, and the first melody to be blasted was the Every Time I Die song "Roman Holiday" from the album New Scene Aesthetic that they put in about a week or so ago. Even though it was metal, they simply tapped their feet to the beat and listened attentively. No one wanted to discuss anything tonight; silence was to be embraced.

Of course though, every now and then side conversation was going on mostly between Nicholls and Lee in the front, or even more quietly Tom and Kean. Curtis' fear must have vocally paralyzed him, and the couple in the back just weren't interested.

Or more specifically...Oli.

He barely talked anymore.
It was only when he was addressed; never really taking part in opening his mouth anymore unless it was to eat or yawn. Evelyn hated this new person she hadn't agreed to dating, and could barely handle the distance he had shown her. It was so uncharacteristic that it had her wondering whether it was worth trying to salvage anymore.

This was only in some of the darkest moments, but still, the thought even arriving into her conscience made her realize that something would have to be done soon; Oli would need confronting, and hopefully it wouldn't make the situation worse.

Now that it was yet another day to go by without progress, she debated attempting the feat. Was it going to be worth it, or would she ruin the night not only for the two of them but for everyone else? The last thing she wanted to accomplish was being a complete bitch and adding more stress to the band; keeping it inside was no solution though. It was a bottle being shaken more violently and with a hand above ready to open it.

She knew they were too perfect together.
There are conflicts in every relationship no matter how long it takes. It had finally shown itself and they were having to deal with it; a Bogart that transformed in front of their eyes as their biggest fears.

Evelyn's eyes trailed over to her near-dead mate and felt her stomach plummet to her ovaries. All he had done in the time that she had been pulled back into her own mind was increase his intoxication level and all he had to show for it was hiccups and the occasional burp. This was sickening, in her opinion, to see someone fall to rock bottom and not have any control over it.

This was becoming far too much.

Oli pulled the flask up to his lips once more, but Evelyn snatched it from his grasp before a drop of whiskey could slither down his throat. He sat motionless while she put it down in the cup holder, then stared at his profile long and hard; scrutinizing and trying to find the demons within that were rendering him so weak and broken.

She knew it had to be more than the police.
She knew it had to be more than the music.

For now she was clueless, but she planned to find out in that moment. Evelyn was tired of standing on the sidelines only to watch her boyfriend go down; they were a couple, and as one, each had to help each other when troubled times were up ahead. It was a two-way street; a balance, and currently the see-saw was as unmoving as Oli.

Her now empty hand that disposed of the alcohol intertwined with his own, but still, he looked ahead with dead eyes. Trying to keep her frustration to a minimum, she sighed to herself and feigned a smile, the kind that said "It's okay, take your time."
Even though it was torture.

"Oli, what's wrong?"

Everyone else in the van couldn't hear a word, for her voice barely reached over a whisper. They wouldn't be interested either, at least not remotely, because no one wants to get in the middle of a potential spat between lovers. It was also because none of the other boys could tap into such logic and intuition (as most young males can't), like a female. They only knew that he was drinking more excessively and getting off his rocker, but didn't even consider worrying too much about it.

Every girl knows that guys only really give a shit about themselves; putting their own personal interests ahead of anyone else, and as far as their own testosterone-driven peers, they had to be tough and not give an obvious damn about each other. It would only be when the situation transforms into the genre of exponentially horrible until a mental alarm will go off and they feel that "hey, maybe I should knock some sense into my friend and make sure he's okay."
Oli didn't reply straight away, and did nothing (or merely show it in his face) when she squeezed his hand harder, wanting only to get any type of reaction.

Eating her up inside, Evelyn knew she wasn't going to get anything, so she ripped her hand away and scooted over. There was only so much an individual could take from someone so static until it becomes too frustrating and the brick wall won't ever soften.
He looked over at her with an almost panicked expression, not knowing how to fix what he had just unintentionally done. Oli reached for his girlfriend, but it only caused her to swat him away and move even farther.

It had gotten to the point of no return, and the last (and only) communication they engaged in was Evelyn shoving the flask back in his direction, spitting venomously:
"Drink yourself to death if that's what you fucking want."

This caught the attention of Tom, sitting in the middle of the row before them, who had barely heard that dark-laced whisper. He was observant, which was to be expected from a timid person, and turned his head to the right just enough to view Evelyn but still be inconspicuous. He had made a real effort not to eavesdrop or watch the two simply because it was rude, but he was mighty curious now, while confident in knowing what was really going on.

A certain negative wave was riding in the air and he easily picked up on it, but Tom wouldn't make a scene by notifying anyone else; oddly, this made him secretly and personally included as well.

The couple were separated in the back and Tom couldn't do anything about it. He was as helpless as the girl, and in knowing that, turned back in the full sitting position; ever remaining silent.

"Wha' in god's name's tha'?"
Curtis suddenly said.

He moved his hand away from his face and leaned forward as much as he could to get a better look, and once he realized what was only 100 yards in front of him, his eyes went wide. The skin tarped over his bones grew goosebumps, blood ran cold, and muscles stiffened. The guitarist muttered a vile profanity then put his jacket hood over his head, trying to hide.

All of them could see it now that Nicholls steered closer; a very brain dead idea according to Curtis, who yelled that they should turn back around and go home.
That they still had a chance to escape.

Up ahead were three police cars with two cops out re-directing traffic right outside the club, and the remaining four officers waved kids out from the facility. That award had probably finally been offered and a traitor lead the pigs to the site.
Tom's breath hitched in his throat, Curtis bit his nails, and Evelyn looked over at her boyfriend; suddenly wishing she wasn't such a bitch to him when he was probably nauseous from the very thought of this happening.

"Yeh said we wouldn' get caught, yeh twat!"
The horrified, lanky brunette screamed from his spot in the corner, while the driving drummer could only blink without a witty comeback this time; all cleverness and humor vanished.

His foot wouldn't release the pressure on the pedal, if anything, he was speeding up. Lee, the co-pilot, never opened his mouth to object. Was it because he was made of steel and wanted to have a throw down with the cops? Could a rarity of such bravery be located in that very vehicle?

No.

Lee's eyes were more empty than anyone else's, and not in the sense that he were thoroughly unhappy but overwhelmingly hypnotized. It could go as far as to say a numbing breeze swept over his still body; susceptible to being hit with anything whether it be a challenge or situation.
Kean upon discovering the pigs sighed uncomfortably and put his head in his hands. They couldn't have fooled themselves, for it was only a matter of time until a roadblock would appear on their path to regained joy. They (with the exception of Curtis) had taken it pretty well; he was the most fearful of all.

"Wha' are yeh doin'? Turn the feck around while we still can!"

"NO!"

Evelyn's being bolted to the left in utter shock; hearing Oli's voice for what felt like the first time in an eternity, and god did it sound different than what she were used to. His tone didn't adhere to the one filled with strength and domination; it cracked at the end of the word and left him to appear in his weakest hour with all possible essence of leadership gone. This just made his peers' stomachs uneasy, because once the director has lost all control, it was a sure sign that painful fuckery was around the corner. They were chopped and screwed, and the big getaway that Curtis had romantically envisioned was no longer an option as Nicholls parked close by.

Only 20 yards away from his Miranda rights.

They sat for a few moments to allow the sure failure to sink in while their fans, not too much farther away were being sent back in the direction of their houses; disappointed. The boys, consequently, also had to deal with that con of the night not only feeling defeated, but liars. Them and the people who attended their shows near to every night were held together by an unspoken bond; a quiet promise to serve each other and continue to fight the system in this way. They had broken that chain of trust and guarantee in a big way even though it wasn't their own personal fault.

What were they left with at this point other than shame?
A second serving.

The boys of Bring Me The Horizon were just luckily relieved that they were parked at a distance for enough to merely make out the blurs of their fans' faces. It would add onto the pile of shit to have to witness that too; cops were abundantly enough. It was as if this were the death sentence they had been waiting for as they sat in their cells during the day and chiseled their escapes at night; they just didn't dig fast enough.

Each person went through their own mental rendition of the past few months with miserable or longing or temporarily content sights on the many memories made, like anyone "lucky" enough to relieve the life that is about to end.

Tom's breathing had calmed to levels of sedation where any sudden and high spark of activity could make his heart stop. Kean still had his head down as though it were a position that could keep him invisible. Take an obvious guess at what Curtis was doing. Lee stared on forever, and wouldn't come out of that trance soon, it seemed. Nicholls' hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than before, his knuckles shrieking from the skin pulled back so tightly over. Evelyn reached for her boyfriend's hand again, far more lovingly, and placed the other under her chin; slightly shaking.
Oli patted down his hair, took one more swig, and began to get up.

"What is it?"
His petrified girlfriend asked anxiously.

She thought he was getting ready to jump out and sprint with the way he was hunched over and appearing very much alarmed. Oli leaned over the middle seat, unsteady and hazy, and tapped his brother on the shoulder, who answered with his eyes.

They widened as the older Sykes placed the flask in his hand while saying:
"I know yeh don' drink, but yeh might wanna start now."

It was haunting the way he said it.
For the second time, he didn't sound like his usual self and it broke Evelyn's heart; it tore it apart slowly like wet paper. He stared at his girlfriend awkwardly, and slowly leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. His lips were chapped and contrasting against her largest organ, but it felt all too right, like what she had been waiting for.

When they shared this sort of intimacy, it was only Evelyn trying to pull Oli out of his perpetual despair; it lacked any real emotion or "no-purpose except to show affection" ambiance. Now was the first time it felt more real than ever, Evelyn thought. She wrapped her arms around his torso and was on the edge of a grateful breakdown.

"Oh Oli,"
She whispered with a tear falling out of her eye.

It was so overwhelming and a compassionate victory, but it was unfortunate that it was only now happening. He ceased their moment by uttering a soft goodbye and began wobbling past her. She had forgotten about the cops, and she had forgotten about his intoxication, which had her falling back to harsh reality. Her orbs were glassy and she was stunned speechless, watching him try to steady himself and get out of the van.
Everyone was panicking inside.

"Oli,"
Tom said.

His voice sounded close to his brother's but much more distraught.
Wimpy and shaky.

"It doesn' 'ave teh be this way."

With his tattooed hands grazing the metal door handle, borderline out of sight and so close to walking to his arrest, Oli didn't move a muscle after that statement was left hanging in the air. His younger blood was calling out to him; to protect him, and in reality he was doing that. He was taking one for the team, because after all, he was the one that the cops really wanted. With Oli gone, the band would be dead; that would be a "mission accomplished" for the government.
It was a completely unselfish thing to do, and Evelyn knew that he was the most courageous being she's ever met.

Oli wiped the skin under his left eye and stated hoarsely:
"Yes it does."

Then he pulled the lever, stepped out of the van, and was gone. What would happen to him was a mystery and it made everyone sick. However disturbed though, Nicholls turned to leave his best friend, and all of them faded into silence.

Was this the end?
They all knew it wasn't even close.