Guilty Feet Have Got No Rhythm

I woke up with a start, blinded by a sudden rush of sunlight. Someone had moved me from my bus, I knew that. Squeezing my eyes shut, I whimpered softly, hoping that what had happened was just a really, really, terrible nightmare.

John drugged me.

But for what? And why? I had honestly thought we were friends, and that he was a good guy.
It was time for me to assess my situation. I was awake. I was in what appeared to be a van. I was on the ground, clothed, thank god. No wait, oh god, oh no, please god, no, no, no, NO!

There was a man next to me.

“Oh no,” I whispered, tears pooling in my eyes. There was a man next to me, someone I didn’t know, someone I didn’t want to know.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I lifted my left hand to pinch the bridge of my nose in an attempt to stop from crying. I dropped my hand and dug my nails into the flesh of my palm, aching to feel something other than fear and nausea.

When I had calmed myself down enough, I lifted my head to examine the back of the man’s head. His auburn hair, slightly tanned neck, rumpled purple t-shirt were all I could make out in the light, but it was enough to know it wasn’t John, and it definitely wasn’t Avery.

But if it wasn’t John, then why had he drugged me? Why had he left me here with a stranger? Horror flooded my mind as I lifted my head to check that I was clothed, too. Luckily, I was.
The man next to me let out a groan, shifting slightly in his sleep. I held my breath tightly, feeling the pressure of both hope and fear rise in my chest as I prayed he would stay asleep so I could make my escape before anyone saw me lying next to him. How the fuck would I explain that to Avery, what with my not so clean reputation with relationships?

He grunted again, this time rolling over so as to face me. I quickly glanced away, praying that it would be someone gay, or someone who was just a friend, someone who would tell me what happened.

Yawning, he rasped out, “Mornin’ love.”

I had to shove my hand into my hand so as to stifle the scream threatening to tear from my mouth. I was afraid that if I let it go, if I released it then I, too, would collapse into hysterics and would never stop.

Jerking myself into a sitting position, I scrambled as far as away as I could get, sobbing mangled prayers. He took one look at me and yelped out a curse, attempting to do the same as I. However, we were jerked back together, our foreheads smashing in the process and our wrists throbbing like no man’s business.

“What are you doing here?” Alex Gaskarth yelled, pushing me off of him. It didn’t work, though. We crashed back together, causing us both to look down at our hands.

Attached to my right wrist and to his left was a pair of shiny, silver, obviously real handcuffs that kept us tied together.

“This is not happening,” I whimpered, closing my eyes and covering them with my untied hand. “Oh, please God, don’t do this to me, please, please, please let this be a nightmare!”

“What the fuck did you do?”

“What did I do? I didn’t do anything!” I wailed. Suddenly, I spied something above me, a yellowed piece of paper. “What the hell is that?”

I attempted to reach for it, but Alex jerked me back with a tug of his hand.

“Ouch, that fricking hurt!” he whined, rubbing his wrist.

“Baby,” I shot before raising up to grab the paper, ignoring his whines. Ripping it from the ceiling, I unfurled it as I sat back down.

“Dear Holly and Alex,” I read.

If you are reading this, then you have woken up from your sleeping pill-induced slumber. Congratulations! You are now about to embark on a journey from Point A to Point B. You are currently in Point A: San Antonio, Texas. Point B is Tulsa, Oklahoma, the site of the next Warped Tour date. You have $100, one day, and one long conversation to go through before you arrive.

If you don’t manage to fix every last one of your bloody problems by the time you arrive, then I will personally lock both of you in a closet and won’t let you out until it’s solved, got it?
Now sit back and enjoy the ride. In the CD drive you will find a CD to listen to, and both of your licenses (and money) are taped underneath the driver’s seat. Have fun!

Love,

Claudia, John, Zack, Rian, and Jack

“Those sons of bitches!” Alex cursed as soon as I finished reading. “I’m going to kill those mother fuckers when I get there!”

“I cannot believe that they would do this!” I groaned, crumbling up the note and tossing it towards the front. “How could they think this is okay, or that this will work?”

Alex dropped his head to his hands before raising it back up, staring at me for the first time straight in the eyes. “Well, there’s only one thing to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Start driving.”

[&cut]

The sun light streamed through the windshield as I cruised down the highway, headed towards Oklahoma. The world blurred between taillights and cement as I drove, trying to keep my mind off Alex, who’s awkward presence was too much to handle.

We spent the first hour in complete silence, me behind the wheel and him sulking in shot gun. There was no talking, no glances exchanged, and definitely no smiling. It was unbearable, completely and utterly painful, to be sitting such awkward silence. When it finally became too much for me to handle, I lifted my right hand off the wheel and turned on the CD drive, thus jostling Alex’s arm.

“Hey,” he grunted, jerking his hand back down.

“Hey yourself,” I shot back, yanking my arm towards me as the sound of muted guitars filled the car.

“Oh shit,” Alex swore before turning the radio off again. “Not that.”

“Um, excuse me, but haven’t you ever heard of driver-picks-the-radio-and-passenger-shuts-his-pie-hole?” I snarked, turning it back on.

He shut it off, I switched it on. He glared, I glared right back, keeping up the radio war. I could catch every other word as it was slammed on and off, but nothing was really audible. Until I heard my name.

“What was that?” I turned the radio back on and slapped his hand every time he tried to turn it off, struggling to keep my eyes on the highway.

“Nothing!” he shouted. “La, la, la, la, la!”

“Will you shut up?” I roared, turning the dial higher and higher.

“When you gonna give it up? You’re giving me such a rush, c’mon Holly would you turn me on?”

I was stunned. Shocked. Silenced. Furious. Hurt. The music continued its roar, the waves of drums and guitars washing over me as Alex sang about me, about us. His words spoke of a time much more special than he made it out to be. The rawness, the harshness, left me gasping with air.

“Is that what you think of me?” I managed to whisper, barely heard over the music.

“Holly—”

“You had no right to sing about me,” I growled, suddenly angry. The street blurred before me, the long stretch of highway that we were stuck on. “You had no right! What if people figured it out? What if they put two and two together as you used my name!”

“I did not,” Alex scoffed. “Don’t be so melodramatic. God, you have to make everything so over-the-top.”

“I’m being dramatic? YOU WROTE A FUCKING SONG ABOUT ME!” I screamed, glaring at him. His neck turned red, and I began to panic. “Oh God, please, God, tell me you only wrote one song…”

His silence spoke a soliloquy, the answer I knew. I flicked on the turn signal and carefully pulled off the highway, coming to a stop on a small residential area. When the car was parked, I dropped my head to the steering wheel and struggled not to cry.

“Turn it off,” I muttered, refusing to look at him. He did as I asked, the chain that linked us together pulling taunt.

“Holly I—”

“Don’t,” I hissed, lifting my head to glare at him. “I don’t want to hear you, don’t want to hear a false apology. I just need to know: how many songs?”

“I can’t really—”

“Bullshit. Tell me.”

“Eleven.”

I sucked my breath in, not at all prepared for that.

“You wrote eleven songs about me?”

“Well, more or less. Some of them you’re mentioned, some inspired, some about you…”

“Why the fuck would you do that? What made you think that was okay?”

“I wasn’t aware that I needed your permission, Holly,” he snarked.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You wrote songs about me! Blatantly obvious songs about our intimacy! At least, that’s what one of the songs alone is about!” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I managed to stammer out, “I’m done. This is it. After I get back to the tour and get these stupid handcuffs off, I’m leaving. You’ll never have to hear from me or see me again. I can’t handle this, I can’t stand this anymore, this cruelty! I made a mistake four years ago and no one can let it go! I’m sorry, Alex, I’m sorry for what I did but you and Claudia and Zack and Rian and Jack have just made it a thousand times worse! I just, I just can’t do this anymore! You make my boyfriend break up with me, you call me horrible names, you get me drugged and you write these terrible songs about me! There is no excuse for what I did, but then again there is no excuse for what you have put me through!”

“You cheated on me! You ruined my friendship with my best friend and then you left me with nothing! You broke my heart, Holly! I wanted to marry you!” he countered.

“Four years ago! Four years! And, if you were so broken over it, then how come you never tried to find me, hmm? Never went for revenge? Instead, you just wrote your insipid little pervert songs about you and me having sex and then made my life hell when I tried to patch things up with Claudia and have a little bit of happiness!”

The silence that followed was deafening. Letting my breath of in a huff, I turned the key in the ignition and took off again down the road, praying that the trip would short and over with soon.

But, of course, my life is not that easy.

Three hours later, we were stranded on an empty highway in the middle of nowhere with no gas and no way to get to Oklahoma. After a brief struggle of attempting to get out of the car, Alex and I stood on the side of the deserted road, desperate for a car.

“Well, isn’t this the cherry on top of the already fucked up sundae,” Alex scoffed, kicking the tire.

I plopped down on the side, tugging him down with me. “This fucking sucks. How are we going to get out of this?”

“We have two options,” Alex suggested, turning to look at me. “We could sit here on the side of the road and wait until someone drives by. Or…”

“Or what?”

“We could start walking.”