The Young and Lost Club
010
“Clark. Clark? Clark!” I blinked, seeing Taylor waving his hand in front of my face.
“Sorry,” I said flushing, looking down into my coffee cup. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“You’re in fucking LaLa Land,” Taylor said. “What is your…Brendon?” He guessed.
I shrugged and quickly looked out the window next to me glancing at the passing people on the street. Taylor and I had a tradition of going out to breakfast every Saturday morning, something we’d been doing since our senior year of High School. We liked to catch up about the night before and our lives without interruption from Max and Brian. Not that we didn’t like being around them, but we were each other’s best friends (long before the four of us were best friends) and there were certain things that we didn’t want the entire band to find out about, just each other. For example, only Taylor knew the extent of Brendon and mines relationship, and only I knew about Taylor’s current squeeze with a girl named Rachel.
Taylor threw a sugar packet at me to get my attention again. “Did you get laid or something?” He said when I blushed and apologized again.
“Tay! No!” I snapped.
“Well what did happen? You should seriously see the smile on your face, it’s disgusting. I haven’t seen you this hung up on a guy since Oli-“ He stopped talking instantly as he saw my face. “Sorry, forget I said that.”
“It’s cool…I just, well, we kissed last night, before we went to dinner, which was actually really fun, and then we left early and came back to my place…”
“So you did get laid?” He said, with a wicked grin.
“No!” I exclaimed. “We just sat outside on the fire escape and talked until like 5 am. It was so nice, Tay, you have no idea, it was just perfect…” I grinned again, thinking about last night, about our intimate conversation where we spilled some of our secrets (well, more him, I played things closer to the chest, but still), playing and joking around, neither of us willing to abandon the other to go sleep so we didn’t. Perfect evening seemed like an understatement.
“Shit,” Taylor said, observing me. “You’ve got it bad.”
“Do not,” I said quickly.
Taylor rolled his eyes. “Yeah sure, sure. Cause your lies work so well on me. So tell me about Pete Wentz.”
I hesitated, knowing I had to tell the guys that he was coming to our show, but, I decided, not yet, I’d tell them when we were all together. So instead, I made a face. “Nothing much to say about him.” I said, making Taylor laugh.
“Yeah, but you’re predisposed to dislike him,” he said with a shrug. “I’d like to meet him,” he said wistfully.
I smirked to myself. Well, maybe one of them would be happy about this.
|||
I decided the casual approach would be best.
So, when I met up with the band a couple hours later at their apartment so we could decide on our set list, I casually went to the refrigerator, pulling out a can of something or other (the guys bought anything that was cheapest, I had stopped looking at what I was drinking long ago), and hopped on the counter, “Oh yeah, I kinda invited Pete Wentz to our show tonight.” I said taking a sip, and avoiding all eyes.
There was a long, horrible pause.
“What. The. Fuck.” Max said finally.
“I’m going to murder you in your sleep, you know that right?” Brian said, angrily.
“Why would you do that?” Max insisted.
“I had no choice! You can’t say no to Pete Wentz!” I said, re-using Brendon’s words from the night before. “And besides, blame Bren, he’s the one who told him we had a show tonight.”
“So…I’m assuming all of them are going to be there too,” Max said slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose, something he did when he was feeling pissed and dramatic.
I nodded.
“And tell us Clark,” Brian said sarcastically. “How is darling Brendon? Fucking his brains out yet?”
“Gross, dude, that’s my sister!” Max howled, slapping the back of Brian’s head.
I glanced at Taylor, who was watching the whole scene in amusement. He shrugged at me.
“Guys, it’s not a big deal.” I said quietly.
“Yes it is.” Max said, pointing a finger in my face. “It is and you know it. We are not getting signed because of whoever it is that you’re dating, or whoever wants to screw you,” I winced, but Max was just getting started. “We are getting signed because of our music, and because we are good. I can’t believe you Clark! We said from the very beginning that we weren’t going to take handouts, and that your job was going to be kept separately from the band, and now you’re pushing the two together! Pete fucking Wentz? Are you kidding me? All he thinks is that you’re a hot piece of ass, and…”
“Shut the fuck up.” I said, jumping off the counter, and glaring at my brother. “That’s enough. It is not my fault that he insisted on coming, nor is it my fault that Panic actually likes us. Pete never once implied that he only wanted to see us so he could sign my ‘hot piece of ass’ to his label, and even if he make us an offer to join his label, you know we’re allowed to refuse? And, as for Brendon, you leave him out of this. He hasn’t done anything to you! I want to get signed just as much as you do! And I want to do it right! We’re on the same fucking page about this, okay?”
Max glared at me. “Fine.” He snapped finally.
“Fine.” I snapped back.
“Ok, cool, we good now?” Taylor said sarcastically. “Did you get that all out of your system?”
“Yes.” We both said stiffly, still glaring at each other.
“Yeah, then stop looking like you want to kill each other, and let’s plan this set list.” Taylor said. He was usually the mediator when Max and I got in arguments. It was only expected, Max and I were related and it’s basically in our genes to have stupid little spats with one another. Brian was the opposite and liked to either fuel the fire because he liked to see how long we’d argue over stupid topics (like the time Max and I didn’t speak for three days over a disagreement about the difference between effect and affect), or he liked to sit back and watch, amused.
“Set. List.” Taylor insisted, grabbing my arm and yanking me along to the couch.
“He started it.” I grumbled to him.
“I know, honey, but you did invite Pete Wentz to our show. I kinda want to kill you right now too.”
|||
I had thought, when I left the guy’s apartment that all was well between Max and I again, and that I was forgiven for inadvertently inviting Pete to the show. But when I got to the club, coming down the from the high Brendon had given me when he walked me to the club, and he gave me a quick kiss on the lips (throwing a quick glance at my brother before doing so), I saw Max’s face cloud over in anger, and the second he left, Max gripped my arm and pulled me to a quiet corner of the greenroom.
“Look, Clark. I want to talk to you about Brendon.” He said, looking stern.
“What about Brendon?” I said defensively, crossing my arms.
Before Max could answer, one of the workers stuck their head in the room. “10 minutes you guys.”
Max nodded to them and then turned back to me. “Look, Clark, what are you doing with him?”
My jaw clenched. I appreciated my brother’s concern, but at the same time, I knew exactly where this conversation was headed. “I’m going on dates with him.” I said stiffly.
“You like him.” Not a question, a statement. Was I really that obvious?
“Yes.”
Max sighed again, running a hand through his black hair. We looked alike, Max and I, black hair, dark eyes, long lashes, sharp cheek bones, ivory skin, although somehow Max had managed to steal all the tall genes from me. “Clark, why do you always do this? You’re going to get hurt. Why do you insist on picking the wrong guys?”
“Brendon is not a wrong guy.” I said aggressively. “He’s been wonderful.”
“He is exactly the wrong guy.” Max persisted. “What? He’s in New York for…2 more weeks? Right? And then what Clark? He’s going to leave you to go on tour. And you barely know him, and he’ll have girls throwing themselves at him all the time, and you’ll never see each other…”
“Shut up.” I said gruffly. I didn’t want to hear this, I didn’t want Max to ruin the fairytale I was trying desperately to keep up about Brendon and I. I had thought about all of this, had tried to avoid seeing Brendon in the beginning because of this, and then, when I started to like him, pushed it forcefully to the back of my mind.
“I will not.” Max said, grabbing my arm. “Clark, I have seen you be cheated on, picked on, and pushed down by all of your previous boyfriends. How many times are you going to let yourself get crushed? Brendon is going to do the exact same thing…”
“Stop it, Max!” I said sharply, and I noticed Taylor and Brian watching us curiously. “I’ve learned from those mistakes…”
“Have you? Have you really? Tell me, Clark, why did you and your last boyfriend break up?” I didn’t answer, so Max did for me, “Because he cheated on you. Because you once again let some bastard walk all over you, and I’m so sick of it. And I’m trying to prevent you from getting hurt again. You know you can’t be trusted! You fall for guys faster than anyone I’ve ever met, and then when they screw you over, you’re in way over your head and let it happen!”
I swallowed, feeling tears coming on. “I’m not talking about this anymore.”
“I’m just trying to help you,” Max insisted.
“We have to go, we’re almost up.” I said flatly.
“Just think about it, okay?” He said, trying to put his hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged him off and started up the stairs to the stage.
|||
The crowd was cheering wildly, and I could hear Pete and Spencer making animal noises from somewhere to the left, but couldn’t see them; the lights were too bright.
I wasn’t my normal self tonight. Usually I helped the witty banter between the four of us, carrying on the awkward pauses between songs, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Max’s words were beyond troubling for me because they were the truth and I couldn’t deny that. I did fall for the wrong guys, and I always fell too quickly. Brendon was a perfect example of that, my initial annoyance towards him transformed to the complete opposite in an amazingly short time. I knew him for two weeks, and already I was “in over my head” as Max put it, and I was letting it happen. I told him about Oliver for God’s sakes. And I had been hurt in the past. I had been hurt badly, and I was the one to blame for that because I let them do it to me: one of my last boyfriends had sent me into a self destructive path for nearly two weeks; two weeks of blacking out from too much alcohol, two weeks of doing things I regretted. I had tried to change. I swore off dating for a while. I swore to myself I’d be stronger, I’d be better, I’d be independent. I’d be whatever it was that wouldn’t let that happen again.
But the truth was I was scared.
I was scared shitless, because Max was right. He was totally right. I chose the wrong guys. I fell in love too quickly. I chose guys that would and could destroy me, to turn me into a meek and terrified person. And, truthfully? I don’t think I can take much of that anymore.
“We have a little treat here for you tonight,” Taylor announced.
I wasn’t paying attention; I was silently tuning the acoustic guitar we needed for our next song, deep in thought.
“We have a little song, that we write for our darling little Clark. It’s called, “The Boyfriend Song”. It’s an ongoing thing, but we’d like to play it for you all tonight.”
My head shot up, and I saw the rest of my band grinning evilly at me. “No.” I mouthed to them. “No!”
But they didn’t listen, and instead started playing the opening cords.
“The Boyfriend Song” was exactly what it sounds like: a song about all my ex-boyfriends and why they were all douche bags. It was a pretty funny song, one that always made people laugh, and they only played it when they were annoyed with me or something like that, because it made me sound like an idiot. Usually, I was a good sport about it, and even joined in for the last part, and getting a good laugh out of it.
Tonight, I was mortified. Not only was it reinforcing all of my doubts and what Max had said, but also because Panic and Pete and Brendon would hear it. I felt myself going red, and then going pale, and then I was shaking with anger. I had never been more furious in my life. I couldn’t even comprehend that they were actually doing this, to me, in front of my friends, in front of the guy I liked.
Taylor and Max realized, by the time they got to the part I normally joined in at that I was pissed. They both glanced at me, and froze slightly, and then tried to continue like everything was fine. Brian, however, was oblivious, seeing as he couldn’t see my face from his drums, and when he finished the song, shouted into his mike, “And that’s why you don’t invite Pete Wentz!”
I heard Pete laughing again, louder than the entire audience, but I made no response but to try and keep my face clean of emotion. Instead, I just started playing the opening notes for the next song. They could join me if they wanted to, the bastards.
|||
“Clark, come on, it was a joke!” Max called after me as I stormed off the stage. The audience was still cheering in hopes of an encore, but there was no way in hell I was getting back on stage. I should be given a gold star for at least finishing the set.
“No,” I seethed, spinning around to face them. I felt betrayed. Betrayed by my three best friends in the world. “You all are assholes. How dare you all play that song when Brendon is here!”
“You’ve never had a problem with it before!” Brian said, using his drumstick to scratch his back awkwardly.
“Um…are you guys going out to do an encore?” A small girl who was working soundboard looked up at us expectantly.
“They can do whatever the fuck they want, I’m not going back.” I snarled, and spun around to head off to the green room alone.
A few minutes later I could hear them start up the song we usually played for an encore, although Max stumbled playing the complex opening guitar part that I had written. I smirked, shoving my guitar in my bag.
“Hey, Abrams?” I looked around to see a bouncer at the door. “Do you know this guy? He’s asking to talk to you?” Brendon peeked his head around the door.
“Yeah, he can come in,” I assured him, and then turned my back on both of them, trying to zip up my guitar bag.
I heard the door shut, and there was a long pause, I could feel Brendon’s eyes burning into my back, but I ignored him. And then I started crying. I don’t know what exactly came over me: one minute I was perfectly fine, the next I was sobbing.
“Lark,” Brendon said quietly, walking to me, removing the guitar and case from my hands and wrapping me in a hug. “Lark, what’s wrong?” I noticed he was calling me Lark, a strange nickname, but it made me feel special, like I was important enough to him for him to make one for me. It made me cry even harder. “What happened? Was it the song? They were just messing around, you know, its okay,” he kept mumbling comforting things into my hair, clutching me to him tightly.
All at once, it felt too painful. He was going to be like all the rest, I couldn’t invest into this, I couldn’t…
I shoved away from him, noticing that his shirt had a wet spot from my tears. “I’m fine,” I said, furiously wiping my eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m fine.”
He gave a short laugh. “Right, I believe that. Seriously,” he turned grave again. “What’s wrong? You seemed…off all night.”
I shrugged, wiping quickly at my eyes again, hating myself for making myself look vulnerable like that in front of him.
He sat down on the edge of a table, looking confused. “You can tell me, you know. I want to be here for you.”
Too nice! I was screaming at myself. I rubbed my forehead, and then managed to blurt out what I needed to say, “I think we should stop seeing each other.”
“What? Why?” I couldn’t look at him, not yet, but his voice sounded panicked and angry.
I shrugged again, my mouth was dry. “It’s…you’re going home in two weeks, and then going on tour,” I said quietly, staring at the chipped wooden counter. “And, you know, we aren’t going to see each other, it’s just pointless. So we should just end this now.”
I heard the creak of the table as Brendon stood up. “Where is this coming from? Last night was incredible. I don’t…understand.”
Last night had been perfect, but I didn’t tell him that. “You can do so much better than me.” I said quietly.
I could feel his glare, but I didn’t look up. “What happened?” He insisted.
“Nothing happened, it’s the truth.”
“You want to stop seeing me.”
“Yes,” I said, but my voice wavered.
“Why don’t you actually look at me and tell me that?” He definitely sounded angry now.
I took a deep breath and looked up at him. He was angry. His eyes were narrowed, and he seemed taller somehow, like he was towering over me. “We should end this.” I said, and I was glad to see my voice was even and calm.
There was a long pause where we stood and looked at each other. I had to look away first. “What are you so fucking scared of?” He said finally.
It was not what I expected him to say, and it took me by surprise. “W-what?” I stammered. “I’m not!” But my words contradicted themselves; the childish “I’m not!” only seemed to show that I was. Only I didn’t know what I was scared of.
He shook his head, glaring at me.
“What?” I said defensively.
“I’m just trying to figure you out.” He shot back at me. “The great enigma that is Clark Abrams,” he said sarcastically, waving his hands around. “And you know? I think I finally get it. You walk around acting like you’re some stuck up, self confident, arrogant, and controlled girl, when in fact you’re just as terrified as the rest of us. Just as lost and clueless as everyone else. And you don’t want to show anybody that side because you think it makes you look weak.” He laughed, but it wasn’t humorous. “But trust me, kid, you aren’t fooling me. You practically flinch when someone compliments you, you don’t think you’re good enough, not for me, not for anybody. You’re on the verge of a breakdown, aren’t you?” His words were not kind, nor were they said kindly. They were blunt and they were 100% true and they hit me with such force I nearly stumbled back from him.
“N-no.” I stammered, and I could feel tears pouring down my cheeks again.
And suddenly, he was there, grabbing my face, forcing me to look up, but I kept my eyes off of his. “Look at me.” He said fiercely, and I did. “Listen. Listen to me. I like you, Clark. You may be difficult, and a bitch, but you are also smart, and sweet, and funny, and beautiful, and you…you get me Clark…I’ve never had that before. I’ve told you, I’m not like other guys, I’m not interested in going on tour and finding some random girl to fuck. I like you, and I want to keep this up, tour or no tour. Can’t you just give me a chance?”
I wanted to say yes. But then I started thinking about the past. About empty promises, about getting hurt so fucking bad I’d rather have been beat up. So I looked up at him, looked right into his huge eyes, wide and full of hope, and I said, “No. I can’t.”
“Sorry,” I said flushing, looking down into my coffee cup. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“You’re in fucking LaLa Land,” Taylor said. “What is your…Brendon?” He guessed.
I shrugged and quickly looked out the window next to me glancing at the passing people on the street. Taylor and I had a tradition of going out to breakfast every Saturday morning, something we’d been doing since our senior year of High School. We liked to catch up about the night before and our lives without interruption from Max and Brian. Not that we didn’t like being around them, but we were each other’s best friends (long before the four of us were best friends) and there were certain things that we didn’t want the entire band to find out about, just each other. For example, only Taylor knew the extent of Brendon and mines relationship, and only I knew about Taylor’s current squeeze with a girl named Rachel.
Taylor threw a sugar packet at me to get my attention again. “Did you get laid or something?” He said when I blushed and apologized again.
“Tay! No!” I snapped.
“Well what did happen? You should seriously see the smile on your face, it’s disgusting. I haven’t seen you this hung up on a guy since Oli-“ He stopped talking instantly as he saw my face. “Sorry, forget I said that.”
“It’s cool…I just, well, we kissed last night, before we went to dinner, which was actually really fun, and then we left early and came back to my place…”
“So you did get laid?” He said, with a wicked grin.
“No!” I exclaimed. “We just sat outside on the fire escape and talked until like 5 am. It was so nice, Tay, you have no idea, it was just perfect…” I grinned again, thinking about last night, about our intimate conversation where we spilled some of our secrets (well, more him, I played things closer to the chest, but still), playing and joking around, neither of us willing to abandon the other to go sleep so we didn’t. Perfect evening seemed like an understatement.
“Shit,” Taylor said, observing me. “You’ve got it bad.”
“Do not,” I said quickly.
Taylor rolled his eyes. “Yeah sure, sure. Cause your lies work so well on me. So tell me about Pete Wentz.”
I hesitated, knowing I had to tell the guys that he was coming to our show, but, I decided, not yet, I’d tell them when we were all together. So instead, I made a face. “Nothing much to say about him.” I said, making Taylor laugh.
“Yeah, but you’re predisposed to dislike him,” he said with a shrug. “I’d like to meet him,” he said wistfully.
I smirked to myself. Well, maybe one of them would be happy about this.
|||
I decided the casual approach would be best.
So, when I met up with the band a couple hours later at their apartment so we could decide on our set list, I casually went to the refrigerator, pulling out a can of something or other (the guys bought anything that was cheapest, I had stopped looking at what I was drinking long ago), and hopped on the counter, “Oh yeah, I kinda invited Pete Wentz to our show tonight.” I said taking a sip, and avoiding all eyes.
There was a long, horrible pause.
“What. The. Fuck.” Max said finally.
“I’m going to murder you in your sleep, you know that right?” Brian said, angrily.
“Why would you do that?” Max insisted.
“I had no choice! You can’t say no to Pete Wentz!” I said, re-using Brendon’s words from the night before. “And besides, blame Bren, he’s the one who told him we had a show tonight.”
“So…I’m assuming all of them are going to be there too,” Max said slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose, something he did when he was feeling pissed and dramatic.
I nodded.
“And tell us Clark,” Brian said sarcastically. “How is darling Brendon? Fucking his brains out yet?”
“Gross, dude, that’s my sister!” Max howled, slapping the back of Brian’s head.
I glanced at Taylor, who was watching the whole scene in amusement. He shrugged at me.
“Guys, it’s not a big deal.” I said quietly.
“Yes it is.” Max said, pointing a finger in my face. “It is and you know it. We are not getting signed because of whoever it is that you’re dating, or whoever wants to screw you,” I winced, but Max was just getting started. “We are getting signed because of our music, and because we are good. I can’t believe you Clark! We said from the very beginning that we weren’t going to take handouts, and that your job was going to be kept separately from the band, and now you’re pushing the two together! Pete fucking Wentz? Are you kidding me? All he thinks is that you’re a hot piece of ass, and…”
“Shut the fuck up.” I said, jumping off the counter, and glaring at my brother. “That’s enough. It is not my fault that he insisted on coming, nor is it my fault that Panic actually likes us. Pete never once implied that he only wanted to see us so he could sign my ‘hot piece of ass’ to his label, and even if he make us an offer to join his label, you know we’re allowed to refuse? And, as for Brendon, you leave him out of this. He hasn’t done anything to you! I want to get signed just as much as you do! And I want to do it right! We’re on the same fucking page about this, okay?”
Max glared at me. “Fine.” He snapped finally.
“Fine.” I snapped back.
“Ok, cool, we good now?” Taylor said sarcastically. “Did you get that all out of your system?”
“Yes.” We both said stiffly, still glaring at each other.
“Yeah, then stop looking like you want to kill each other, and let’s plan this set list.” Taylor said. He was usually the mediator when Max and I got in arguments. It was only expected, Max and I were related and it’s basically in our genes to have stupid little spats with one another. Brian was the opposite and liked to either fuel the fire because he liked to see how long we’d argue over stupid topics (like the time Max and I didn’t speak for three days over a disagreement about the difference between effect and affect), or he liked to sit back and watch, amused.
“Set. List.” Taylor insisted, grabbing my arm and yanking me along to the couch.
“He started it.” I grumbled to him.
“I know, honey, but you did invite Pete Wentz to our show. I kinda want to kill you right now too.”
|||
I had thought, when I left the guy’s apartment that all was well between Max and I again, and that I was forgiven for inadvertently inviting Pete to the show. But when I got to the club, coming down the from the high Brendon had given me when he walked me to the club, and he gave me a quick kiss on the lips (throwing a quick glance at my brother before doing so), I saw Max’s face cloud over in anger, and the second he left, Max gripped my arm and pulled me to a quiet corner of the greenroom.
“Look, Clark. I want to talk to you about Brendon.” He said, looking stern.
“What about Brendon?” I said defensively, crossing my arms.
Before Max could answer, one of the workers stuck their head in the room. “10 minutes you guys.”
Max nodded to them and then turned back to me. “Look, Clark, what are you doing with him?”
My jaw clenched. I appreciated my brother’s concern, but at the same time, I knew exactly where this conversation was headed. “I’m going on dates with him.” I said stiffly.
“You like him.” Not a question, a statement. Was I really that obvious?
“Yes.”
Max sighed again, running a hand through his black hair. We looked alike, Max and I, black hair, dark eyes, long lashes, sharp cheek bones, ivory skin, although somehow Max had managed to steal all the tall genes from me. “Clark, why do you always do this? You’re going to get hurt. Why do you insist on picking the wrong guys?”
“Brendon is not a wrong guy.” I said aggressively. “He’s been wonderful.”
“He is exactly the wrong guy.” Max persisted. “What? He’s in New York for…2 more weeks? Right? And then what Clark? He’s going to leave you to go on tour. And you barely know him, and he’ll have girls throwing themselves at him all the time, and you’ll never see each other…”
“Shut up.” I said gruffly. I didn’t want to hear this, I didn’t want Max to ruin the fairytale I was trying desperately to keep up about Brendon and I. I had thought about all of this, had tried to avoid seeing Brendon in the beginning because of this, and then, when I started to like him, pushed it forcefully to the back of my mind.
“I will not.” Max said, grabbing my arm. “Clark, I have seen you be cheated on, picked on, and pushed down by all of your previous boyfriends. How many times are you going to let yourself get crushed? Brendon is going to do the exact same thing…”
“Stop it, Max!” I said sharply, and I noticed Taylor and Brian watching us curiously. “I’ve learned from those mistakes…”
“Have you? Have you really? Tell me, Clark, why did you and your last boyfriend break up?” I didn’t answer, so Max did for me, “Because he cheated on you. Because you once again let some bastard walk all over you, and I’m so sick of it. And I’m trying to prevent you from getting hurt again. You know you can’t be trusted! You fall for guys faster than anyone I’ve ever met, and then when they screw you over, you’re in way over your head and let it happen!”
I swallowed, feeling tears coming on. “I’m not talking about this anymore.”
“I’m just trying to help you,” Max insisted.
“We have to go, we’re almost up.” I said flatly.
“Just think about it, okay?” He said, trying to put his hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged him off and started up the stairs to the stage.
|||
The crowd was cheering wildly, and I could hear Pete and Spencer making animal noises from somewhere to the left, but couldn’t see them; the lights were too bright.
I wasn’t my normal self tonight. Usually I helped the witty banter between the four of us, carrying on the awkward pauses between songs, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Max’s words were beyond troubling for me because they were the truth and I couldn’t deny that. I did fall for the wrong guys, and I always fell too quickly. Brendon was a perfect example of that, my initial annoyance towards him transformed to the complete opposite in an amazingly short time. I knew him for two weeks, and already I was “in over my head” as Max put it, and I was letting it happen. I told him about Oliver for God’s sakes. And I had been hurt in the past. I had been hurt badly, and I was the one to blame for that because I let them do it to me: one of my last boyfriends had sent me into a self destructive path for nearly two weeks; two weeks of blacking out from too much alcohol, two weeks of doing things I regretted. I had tried to change. I swore off dating for a while. I swore to myself I’d be stronger, I’d be better, I’d be independent. I’d be whatever it was that wouldn’t let that happen again.
But the truth was I was scared.
I was scared shitless, because Max was right. He was totally right. I chose the wrong guys. I fell in love too quickly. I chose guys that would and could destroy me, to turn me into a meek and terrified person. And, truthfully? I don’t think I can take much of that anymore.
“We have a little treat here for you tonight,” Taylor announced.
I wasn’t paying attention; I was silently tuning the acoustic guitar we needed for our next song, deep in thought.
“We have a little song, that we write for our darling little Clark. It’s called, “The Boyfriend Song”. It’s an ongoing thing, but we’d like to play it for you all tonight.”
My head shot up, and I saw the rest of my band grinning evilly at me. “No.” I mouthed to them. “No!”
But they didn’t listen, and instead started playing the opening cords.
“The Boyfriend Song” was exactly what it sounds like: a song about all my ex-boyfriends and why they were all douche bags. It was a pretty funny song, one that always made people laugh, and they only played it when they were annoyed with me or something like that, because it made me sound like an idiot. Usually, I was a good sport about it, and even joined in for the last part, and getting a good laugh out of it.
Tonight, I was mortified. Not only was it reinforcing all of my doubts and what Max had said, but also because Panic and Pete and Brendon would hear it. I felt myself going red, and then going pale, and then I was shaking with anger. I had never been more furious in my life. I couldn’t even comprehend that they were actually doing this, to me, in front of my friends, in front of the guy I liked.
Taylor and Max realized, by the time they got to the part I normally joined in at that I was pissed. They both glanced at me, and froze slightly, and then tried to continue like everything was fine. Brian, however, was oblivious, seeing as he couldn’t see my face from his drums, and when he finished the song, shouted into his mike, “And that’s why you don’t invite Pete Wentz!”
I heard Pete laughing again, louder than the entire audience, but I made no response but to try and keep my face clean of emotion. Instead, I just started playing the opening notes for the next song. They could join me if they wanted to, the bastards.
|||
“Clark, come on, it was a joke!” Max called after me as I stormed off the stage. The audience was still cheering in hopes of an encore, but there was no way in hell I was getting back on stage. I should be given a gold star for at least finishing the set.
“No,” I seethed, spinning around to face them. I felt betrayed. Betrayed by my three best friends in the world. “You all are assholes. How dare you all play that song when Brendon is here!”
“You’ve never had a problem with it before!” Brian said, using his drumstick to scratch his back awkwardly.
“Um…are you guys going out to do an encore?” A small girl who was working soundboard looked up at us expectantly.
“They can do whatever the fuck they want, I’m not going back.” I snarled, and spun around to head off to the green room alone.
A few minutes later I could hear them start up the song we usually played for an encore, although Max stumbled playing the complex opening guitar part that I had written. I smirked, shoving my guitar in my bag.
“Hey, Abrams?” I looked around to see a bouncer at the door. “Do you know this guy? He’s asking to talk to you?” Brendon peeked his head around the door.
“Yeah, he can come in,” I assured him, and then turned my back on both of them, trying to zip up my guitar bag.
I heard the door shut, and there was a long pause, I could feel Brendon’s eyes burning into my back, but I ignored him. And then I started crying. I don’t know what exactly came over me: one minute I was perfectly fine, the next I was sobbing.
“Lark,” Brendon said quietly, walking to me, removing the guitar and case from my hands and wrapping me in a hug. “Lark, what’s wrong?” I noticed he was calling me Lark, a strange nickname, but it made me feel special, like I was important enough to him for him to make one for me. It made me cry even harder. “What happened? Was it the song? They were just messing around, you know, its okay,” he kept mumbling comforting things into my hair, clutching me to him tightly.
All at once, it felt too painful. He was going to be like all the rest, I couldn’t invest into this, I couldn’t…
I shoved away from him, noticing that his shirt had a wet spot from my tears. “I’m fine,” I said, furiously wiping my eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m fine.”
He gave a short laugh. “Right, I believe that. Seriously,” he turned grave again. “What’s wrong? You seemed…off all night.”
I shrugged, wiping quickly at my eyes again, hating myself for making myself look vulnerable like that in front of him.
He sat down on the edge of a table, looking confused. “You can tell me, you know. I want to be here for you.”
Too nice! I was screaming at myself. I rubbed my forehead, and then managed to blurt out what I needed to say, “I think we should stop seeing each other.”
“What? Why?” I couldn’t look at him, not yet, but his voice sounded panicked and angry.
I shrugged again, my mouth was dry. “It’s…you’re going home in two weeks, and then going on tour,” I said quietly, staring at the chipped wooden counter. “And, you know, we aren’t going to see each other, it’s just pointless. So we should just end this now.”
I heard the creak of the table as Brendon stood up. “Where is this coming from? Last night was incredible. I don’t…understand.”
Last night had been perfect, but I didn’t tell him that. “You can do so much better than me.” I said quietly.
I could feel his glare, but I didn’t look up. “What happened?” He insisted.
“Nothing happened, it’s the truth.”
“You want to stop seeing me.”
“Yes,” I said, but my voice wavered.
“Why don’t you actually look at me and tell me that?” He definitely sounded angry now.
I took a deep breath and looked up at him. He was angry. His eyes were narrowed, and he seemed taller somehow, like he was towering over me. “We should end this.” I said, and I was glad to see my voice was even and calm.
There was a long pause where we stood and looked at each other. I had to look away first. “What are you so fucking scared of?” He said finally.
It was not what I expected him to say, and it took me by surprise. “W-what?” I stammered. “I’m not!” But my words contradicted themselves; the childish “I’m not!” only seemed to show that I was. Only I didn’t know what I was scared of.
He shook his head, glaring at me.
“What?” I said defensively.
“I’m just trying to figure you out.” He shot back at me. “The great enigma that is Clark Abrams,” he said sarcastically, waving his hands around. “And you know? I think I finally get it. You walk around acting like you’re some stuck up, self confident, arrogant, and controlled girl, when in fact you’re just as terrified as the rest of us. Just as lost and clueless as everyone else. And you don’t want to show anybody that side because you think it makes you look weak.” He laughed, but it wasn’t humorous. “But trust me, kid, you aren’t fooling me. You practically flinch when someone compliments you, you don’t think you’re good enough, not for me, not for anybody. You’re on the verge of a breakdown, aren’t you?” His words were not kind, nor were they said kindly. They were blunt and they were 100% true and they hit me with such force I nearly stumbled back from him.
“N-no.” I stammered, and I could feel tears pouring down my cheeks again.
And suddenly, he was there, grabbing my face, forcing me to look up, but I kept my eyes off of his. “Look at me.” He said fiercely, and I did. “Listen. Listen to me. I like you, Clark. You may be difficult, and a bitch, but you are also smart, and sweet, and funny, and beautiful, and you…you get me Clark…I’ve never had that before. I’ve told you, I’m not like other guys, I’m not interested in going on tour and finding some random girl to fuck. I like you, and I want to keep this up, tour or no tour. Can’t you just give me a chance?”
I wanted to say yes. But then I started thinking about the past. About empty promises, about getting hurt so fucking bad I’d rather have been beat up. So I looked up at him, looked right into his huge eyes, wide and full of hope, and I said, “No. I can’t.”
♠ ♠ ♠
Promised I would get this out. I'm sorry Clark is such an idiot.One more chapter in the past before we go to the present again.
: )
Comments, please please, please! You all are lovely, thanks for the b-day wishes
-Sophie