Second Chance

We were in Paris before it really began to sink in.

I was pinching myself was staring up at the Eiffel Tower through the window of the car, wondering how the hell it was that I had come to be here. Paris. The city of lights and love and whatever else they call it. Long gone were the days where I tried to keep up to date with where we were and where we were going next; I simply went with the flow, deciding that I needed to enjoy myself in these foreign countries while I had the chance. Of course, that didn't make believing I was there any easier.

It was like a very long, very vivid dream. In the past week alone we had been to Norway, Italy and Belgium, and now here we were in France. And the whole way I had kept Zacky's camera close at hand, taking on the roll of a typical tourist. Bad photos of places that have been photographed more times than anybody could ever count. It made me work harder to capture something original and unique.

I knew that any one of their fans would have killed me for saying it, but watching the band's show became boring after a while. Perhaps it was just because I was seeing the same thing every day. I turned my attention instead to the crowds, which were different on every night of the tour, without fail. I turned the camera on them.

Much to my delight, the guys seemed to enjoy seeing the various photos of their fans enjoying themselves. And although he wouldn't express it whenever I was around, I could tell that Brian liked the idea of it as well. Being on stage so much, they didn't get to spend as much time with their fans as they would have liked. This was a way to feel closer to them.

"Look at those home made shirts."

"Check out this girl's tattoo."

It was a great feeling, knowing that I was giving back to them in some way, and so it was a plan that I stuck with.

I had never imagined a life on the road, let alone one where I was with a touring band, so it was hard to say whether it was anything that I would have ever expected. One thing I learned very quickly was that it was tiring - not because we were busy doing things all day, but because we were constantly on the move. Whether it was a plane or the tour bus, it seemed that we didn't stay still for more than a few hours at a time. The guys seemed more than used to it, but it began to drive me crazy sooner than I would have expected.

"You get used to it," Matt told me again, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Just give it a week or two."

I felt like a week or two more of it would be the death of me. If there was one thing I was learning from my experiences with the band, it was that I was prone to getting motion sickness. I didn't often throw up (luckily) but there was no way to stop the light-headedness or the feeling of needing to be sick. I kept a bottle of cold water close by during these times, and made sure to be in running distance of the bathroom.

When they told me that they planned on being on the road non-stop for the next year, I almost wished that I was back home in my bed, waking up from the whole adventure. A few beatings from my father would have been preferable to the promised sickness that I was going to be sitting through.

But, I reminded myself, there was no guarantee that I was going to be sitting through the entire thing. I was still waiting for Matt to tell me that I could go back home, that Zacky wasn't going to go mental on them again. Every day that they played a show, he seemed more at home, more comfortable with where he was. He still kept an eye on me, but not in the way that he had before, like he was paranoid. It was a comforting thought, thinking that he was getting back to the way he was supposed to be. Thinking that he was getting over his girlfriend.

"Only a matter of time."

That was the only thing Brian would ever say to me with a smile on his face. I took it as a good thing that he would at least talk to me now, even if it was for the wrong reasons. Jimmy had become more approachable over time as well, and I found that I could be comfortable around him when he wasn't acting crazy and drunk. Which was, unfortunately, quite often.

I was glad to see their hatred of me cooling off even just a little; it meant that I could feel more at home with the band while I was with them. Or at least, it made me feel like less of a bother. That was until I met their manager.

His name was Larry Jacobson, and he hated my guts.