How A Heart Breaks

I suppose I was always the one for sleeping in, and although it was deeply set in my head that it was, in fact, warped tour and that we were on it, I could not seem to wake up early for the life of me. Even if the van was utterly uncomfortable and it smelled of sweaty boys, which is not something that you would want to smell, especially in a little space like this.

When I wake up that morning (two weeks after we started the tour), the van is abandon, it seemed. There was no Nathan to let one rip right into my face, but I had been so tired, I would not be surprised if he had tried that and my body simply shrugged it off. I scratch at my hair, and other distinct places before getting up, making sure to not stand completely straight because despite how many times I tell myself not to, I still do sometimes. And it always results in a rather serious headache. I hear loud laughter from outside.

Sometimes, their laughter scares me. Because I know that I will never know what the hell is really going on until I see it. And honestly, some things are better unknown, really. Despite knowing that I might not want to know what’s happening out there, I touch my hand to the door handle. And before I hear it open, I hear howling laughter that was only Nathan, and then two others join in. They scream that they should take a picture, telling Porter to pose.

I yank the door open, and I as soon as I see the sight in front of me, my eyebrows raise and my jaw half-drops.

“Holy shit,” Nathan says, “Pash you have to see this!” Somehow, I do not think I really quite do need to see this, from the front is must be worse. Though, upon hearing Nathan call out to me, the four boys turn to me. I almost piss my pants at the boy in front of me as he displays an all too familiar Porter-grin, but it does not in any way match this getup he has going on.

“Porter, what the fuck?” I puff my cheeks as a band walks by and slows down to look at Porter like he’s completely nuts, which he is. They begin to laugh at him as Porter throws them a goofy grin and a wave, then he turns back to me.

“Hey little boy,” He says in a voice that is not his. He walks closer to me, grabbing me by the hem of my shirt.

“Porter, stop.” Now, he is not by any means dressed normally. He is currently sporting (from toe to head): high heals, these weird granny-underwear (but not really granny underwear) which are gold in color and go up passed his belly button, this weird red top that is a bit small, but not really. Its half a turtle neck, except without long sleeves. Oh god, and he has these gold thin-rimmed glasses on and his hair is pushed away from his face and looks feathery. He looks like a grandmother hooker. It does sort of creep me out.

I make an attempt to push him from me.

“Rough play,” he laughs, “daddy…er- Mommy likes it.” Oh fuck; the way he said it was so entirely wrong, dirty, and creepy that it makes me want to kick babies in the face. I feel myself pale from being scared, even if I know that it’s only Porter. I step away from him, and he steps closer, with those damn heals. He steps on my foot.

“God fucking damn it, Porter!” I shout, grabbing my foot into my hands. I fall to the ground and examine my toe to see if it’s broken. I wonder why the other guys are mostly quiet. My toe is throbbing, and as I examine it, I barely hear Porter say sorry, but he’s more on the verge of laughter than being sorry.

And then there’s this shadow looming over me. I only know because the sun is suddenly not so bright. And as I see a damn heal step over one side of my body, I tense and look up. Fuck Porter to hell! All I see is his fucking Moose Knuckle and those gold high-wasted things. His package is right in my damn face. I immediately close my eyes again, reflexively bringing my leg up rapidly to kick him between the legs. And suddenly, Julian, Hayden and Nathan aren’t so quiet.

There’s laugher as Porter falls onto the ground cupping himself, and then he manages to send me a glare while he digs his feet between my legs. So we’re both groaning in pain, on the floor cupping each other. And all I hear is:

“Thank god we’ve got that on video.”

That night, we played on the Hurley stage, and the audience for us was not quite as big during the beginning of our set, but immediately after us was 3OH!3, so people had started to pack in more toward the end. There were so many people screaming ‘I love you!’ more particularly to Porter, and he was grinning like an asshole the entire time we played, singing with a big smile on his face.

He announced that we would be at our ‘merch’ table after our set, that they should come talk to us if they like. That was before we walked off the stage and made our way to the ‘merch’ table. That was before people were lined up to meet us and take pictures, before the prettiest girl I’ve seen all day came up, whispered something in Porters ear that made him smile so big.

When she pulls back, I look into her eyes. Pupils are dilated, false self-confidence is masked tightly to look like real confidence, but I see it. She’s definitely on something. So I watch Porter in curiosity, wondering if he would really, actually take the bate because he’s been doing so well this far. In my mind, I beg him not to, because this is exactly what I don’t want him to do. But he smiles, and he keeps smiling and she doesn’t go away.

So I scream at him in my head: don’t take the bate!.

But I watch him as he does just that.