Romance
Chapter Two
The hungry breeze bit into my eyes, and left fragile tears on the tips of my eyelashes. Brushing my hand across my numb cheekbone, I sighed. It seemed as though nothing promising held in Eastport, other than picturesque stretches of family owned shops and neighborhoods. Nothing exciting, nothing riveting. Nothing to get me past the two weeks until I could perch myself by the buses’ window, and smile gleefully to myself as I watched the Maine countryside slowly fade by.
Two weeks until I could resume freedom. Lazily, I yawned. My legs yearned to be used - maybe a good, long run would kill that pesky excesses energy that dwelled inside me. On second thought, no. Perhaps a cat nap? No. That would make only a bigger combination of my boredom. Maybe it wasn’t such a long wait to do nothing. Maybe I could have just stayed there and debated with myself.
A low grumble roared from underneath the mechanics of the bus proved me otherwise. Should I go in? Or stay outside, where the cool air could and most certainly would continue to dig deeper into my already pallid skin? As the debate raged on between myself, and well, myself, a distant symphony of almost identical voices chimed nearby. Cocking my head to the west, I soon realized who those voices belonged to.
About five or so teenager girls stood shivering in the cold, their faces bright with excitement, their unsteady arms either clasped over their cheeks or holding neon sketchpads, presumably for autographs. All of them were dressed in My Chemical Romance band shirts, with about three layers of long johns underneath. I could hear a faint sound of two knees colliding with each other in the cold; God, they must be one of the teenies. I couldn’t help but force a small smile and cautiously walk over to them.
“Hey there. Can I, um, help any of you?” I asked, faking another smile. My cheeks felt as though they were being frozen to the bone every time I spoke. Running my tongue over my rows jagged teeth, I realized that a thickening wall of plaque had begun to form over the canines. Ha.
The tall one, whom I guessed to be of the age thirteen or so, grinned. “Actually, you can” She said, looking around to her circle of friends, each one of them duplicating the grin she wore with pride. “We’re basically here for one reason, and I think you know what that is, right?” The girl winked at me, and a cheeky little smile spread over her goddamn face.
“Oh?” The little brat was bolder than I expected. And at that moment, that wasn’t a particularly good thing, seeing as I was bored out of comprehension, about to freeze myself to death in that God forsaken weather, and was caught in the middle of a mental conversation.
“Yeah. Uhm, H-Hi. I’m Mandi. This is Dana-” She pointed to herself, then to a small blonde girl, who seemed to hide beneath the rest of the girls. Her timid blue eyes were like large O’s. “That’s Bridget, right over there, that’s Michelle, and that’s Cady” Each girl took turns waving shyly, -more so than others-, and then finally jutted their makeshift autograph books out to me, that Mandi girl’s hitting my abdomen. “Jesus!” I growled, my cynicism barely audible over their screeches.
After about ten minutes of the seemingly endless torture of listening to them preach about anything and everything that was possible to preach about, and everything and anything there was to ask me about, the questions ranging from the predictable “Is it fun being on tour? Is it? Do you ever get like, tired of it?” and the ones that made me want to pull my hair out and eat it. (“Is there really a Ferard? ‘Cause if there is, I want the pictures!”)
As I waved goodbye to the fans, I heard one of them screech: “Gerald was so nice to give us those autographs, riiiight?”
Fourteen days. Two weeks. Too long.
Two weeks until I could resume freedom. Lazily, I yawned. My legs yearned to be used - maybe a good, long run would kill that pesky excesses energy that dwelled inside me. On second thought, no. Perhaps a cat nap? No. That would make only a bigger combination of my boredom. Maybe it wasn’t such a long wait to do nothing. Maybe I could have just stayed there and debated with myself.
A low grumble roared from underneath the mechanics of the bus proved me otherwise. Should I go in? Or stay outside, where the cool air could and most certainly would continue to dig deeper into my already pallid skin? As the debate raged on between myself, and well, myself, a distant symphony of almost identical voices chimed nearby. Cocking my head to the west, I soon realized who those voices belonged to.
About five or so teenager girls stood shivering in the cold, their faces bright with excitement, their unsteady arms either clasped over their cheeks or holding neon sketchpads, presumably for autographs. All of them were dressed in My Chemical Romance band shirts, with about three layers of long johns underneath. I could hear a faint sound of two knees colliding with each other in the cold; God, they must be one of the teenies. I couldn’t help but force a small smile and cautiously walk over to them.
“Hey there. Can I, um, help any of you?” I asked, faking another smile. My cheeks felt as though they were being frozen to the bone every time I spoke. Running my tongue over my rows jagged teeth, I realized that a thickening wall of plaque had begun to form over the canines. Ha.
The tall one, whom I guessed to be of the age thirteen or so, grinned. “Actually, you can” She said, looking around to her circle of friends, each one of them duplicating the grin she wore with pride. “We’re basically here for one reason, and I think you know what that is, right?” The girl winked at me, and a cheeky little smile spread over her goddamn face.
“Oh?” The little brat was bolder than I expected. And at that moment, that wasn’t a particularly good thing, seeing as I was bored out of comprehension, about to freeze myself to death in that God forsaken weather, and was caught in the middle of a mental conversation.
“Yeah. Uhm, H-Hi. I’m Mandi. This is Dana-” She pointed to herself, then to a small blonde girl, who seemed to hide beneath the rest of the girls. Her timid blue eyes were like large O’s. “That’s Bridget, right over there, that’s Michelle, and that’s Cady” Each girl took turns waving shyly, -more so than others-, and then finally jutted their makeshift autograph books out to me, that Mandi girl’s hitting my abdomen. “Jesus!” I growled, my cynicism barely audible over their screeches.
After about ten minutes of the seemingly endless torture of listening to them preach about anything and everything that was possible to preach about, and everything and anything there was to ask me about, the questions ranging from the predictable “Is it fun being on tour? Is it? Do you ever get like, tired of it?” and the ones that made me want to pull my hair out and eat it. (“Is there really a Ferard? ‘Cause if there is, I want the pictures!”)
As I waved goodbye to the fans, I heard one of them screech: “Gerald was so nice to give us those autographs, riiiight?”
Fourteen days. Two weeks. Too long.