My Heart Is The Worst Kind Of Weapon

Not even an hour had passed with me lying depressed on my bed when I was interrupted again. This time it was Dylan.

“Hey baby.” He greeted, walking over to where I was curled up on the bed and sitting down beside me.

“Hi.” I mumbled, turning over to look at him. He was looking at me with worry.

“You feeling okay?” He pressed his palm to my forehead, as if I might have a fever, “You know, it wasn't your fault, what happened with the knife.”

“It's not the knife that's bugging me.” I said truthfully.

“Then what is it?” He asked, brushing hair away from my face with a gentle hand.

“I'm just-” I let out a breath, “I'm just kind of tired of this tour.” And this damn lie, I added in my head.

“I wish you weren't going away again either.” Dylan assured me, “But it'll only be another three months and then it's over.”

I just shut my eyes and tried to breath deep. Dylan was right. Three and half months left and I was going to come back home and get married. But... but what was supposed to happen with Frank during those three and a half months? When was I supposed to tell him I was engaged. When did I break up with him? What would he do when I had to admit how horrible of a human being I am?

“How about I give you something to push you through these last three months?” Dylan said slyly, leaning down to kiss me.

I let him kiss me, and I let him take my clothes off. I let him make love to me. But after we were done and Dylan had fallen asleep, I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. I just couldn't enjoy it like I used too, and I didn't know why.

It was probably because I was too worried about being Frank's girlfriend. Everytime Dylan kissed me I thought of Frank, and how I was basically cheating on him. Even though technically, it wasn't cheating on Frank if I had been dating Dylan first.

I sighed and rolled over, trying to get my body to sleep, but no matter how hard I tried, sleep wouldn't come.

After another half hour of attempting to sleep I got up out of bed and began to clean. Cleaning took my mind off of everything that was going on, since all I could think about was how I could clean more efficiently, and where would all this junk go, and should I organzie my bookshelf and my closet?

It was three in the morning when I finally fell onto my bed, crawling under my blankets. My eyes fluttered shut and within moments I was finally asleep.

**

I woke up to my cellphone buzzing.

I yawned and rolled over, reaching to my night table where my cellphone was vibrating. I picked it and flipped it open. But before I could even say hello I heard Gerard talking.

“Lindsey, where are you? Cause it's 1 o'clock and we were supposed to be on the rode an hour ago. We're waiting outside your apartment.”

I immeaditely jumped up from my bed, “I'll be right there!”

I hurried out of my room and slammed into Georgina, who was standing outside my door.

“Your room is clean, and you're running late.” She observed, handing me a cup of coffee, “I guess we won't have time for a proper goodbye, so-”

She hugged me tightly, “Dylan is in the kitchen. Call me often and don't miss me too much.”

I hugged her back and then ran into the kitchen. Dylan was sitting at the table, eating waffles.

“Dylan, look, I need to talk to you real quick before I go.” I said, feeling too rushed to be nervous about this last, final part of my plan, “I don't think you should call me for the next three and a half months while I'm gone.”

He paused in the act of eating his breakfast and I hurried on, “It's just because the next half of the tour is the busiest part, and I might be too busy to talk to you.” This was a total lie, because the last half of the tour was more evenly paced, as we stayed two days in almost every city we visited. But I figured it would be easier to focus on Frank if Dylan wasn't calling me every second day.

“But-” Dylan started to say.

“Look, I'm running really late. I love you and I'll see you when this tour is over.” I was almost out the apartment door when Dylan grabbed my arm and stopped me.

“I can't even call you once?” He looked at me, “Are you serious?”

“Dylan, I'm sorry.” I tried to pull out of his grasp, “I'm going to be really busy.”

He stared at me, and I tried to read his expression. He look exasperated and angry.

“Fine.” He let go of my arm and turned around, “See you in three and a half months.”

“Dylan...” I pleaded, but he had already shut my apartment door.

I felt a twinge of annoyance and rolled my eyes. Then I shrugged it off and sprinted out of my apartment and onto the tourbus. And now my entire, brilliant plan was set in stone. I just prayed it would work for the next three and a half months.