Smiling at Everything

Jazz trudged after Zack through the parking lot of the building the bands would be doing the photo shoot in. Though she had consumed two energy drinks that morning, she was still tired. Not to mention she wasn't in the mood for this photo shoot. Not after the nightmare she had earlier that morning.

She hadn't gotten the chance to go back to sleep. She didn't try knowing she would just have another nightmare. Instead, she lay in Zack's arms, watching him sleep. He nearly had a heart attack when he woke up to see her grey-blue eyes staring at him; Jazz couldn't stop laughing.

Even after the excitement of the morning, Jazz was still trying to figure out how she managed to stay in Zack's arms the entire night without freaking out. When he pulled her into his arms to comfort her, she didn't tense up or shy away the way she did with everyone else. She didn't understand how he didn't have a negative effect on her. It was obvious she wasn't over the past yet; after all, the nightmare had been pretty gruesome. So how did Zack comfort her?

"Stop overanalyzing, Juliet."

Jazz stopped walking, eyes darting around the parking lot. This had to stop. The voices, the memories, they couldn't keep going on. There had to be someway for her to end them. Some way that didn't require her to take a gun to her head.

Though, that was an appealing thought.

"You're such a wimp, Presley."

Jazz shook her head, clutching either side of it with her hands. Her hands pressed down with force in hopes of killing their voices for a moment. A pain seeped through her head, dull and comforting. She was alive and they weren't there; that's what the pain told her. That's what the pain always told her. It was why razor blades had been her only form of comfort for so long, why she yearned to grab one and slice her skin again.

"Elvis, are you okay?"

Zack's voice shattered her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. Jazz looked at him, hands still clutching her head. The worried expression on his face was becoming one Jazz was used to.

"Just thinking too much," Jazz sighed, taking one hand away from her head and massaging her temple with the other, "I have a headache."

"Need me to carry you in?" Zack asked.

"Is that some cure for my headache?"

"Technically, no, but it might help to let you relax, which could make your headache go away."

"So, basically, it’s a cure for my headache."

"Yeah."

Jazz smiled, removing her hand from her temple. She didn't know why he seemed to care so much about her wellbeing but it made her happy. He noticed, he cared, she could talk him at least a little bit. Zack was closer to her than her own friends. He was closer to her than Neon was and she had known the lead singer since before grade school. The pair used to share everything. Now, Jazz was confiding in someone that, before a few days ago, she had only talked to three times.

"Well, if you think your guns can hold my weight, Beatrice, you can have the pleasure of carrying me into the building," Jazz said.

"What do you weigh? Nothing?" Zack teased.

Jazz scoffed, "I think it's pretty obvious that I weigh more than Neon."

Jazz did, after all, have a bigger bust size and hip size. Not to mention her behind was a tad bigger than Neon's. She was by no means overweight; her stomach, thighs, and arms were toned from extensive work outs with her personal trainer. She just happened to have bigger assets. Those couldn't be helped without surgery.

Or starvation. But Jazz wasn't Neon; she didn't have the willpower to starve herself.

"Five pounds then?" Zack teased.

Of course Jazz weighed more than Neon. Though Neon was allegedly over her anorexia kick, she was still thin. She gained back weight but her BMI was on the border of healthy weight and underweight. Everyone knew but no one said anything because she was slowly getting back to her normal eating habits.

"Oh, please," Jazz said.

"Elvis, I've lifted small dogs bigger than you."

"Like what, a Great Dane? Those aren't very small, Beatrice."

"Try a Chihuahua."

Jazz rolled her eyes, "Fine, Mister Macho. Carry me."

"Would you like me to carry you bridal style or would you like to ride on my back?" Zack asked.

Jazz's face lit up at the prospect of riding on Zack's back. Piggyback rides were always fun. She may not have experienced them much as a child but her stepfather had a habit of carrying her piggyback through the grocery store when she lived with him. Plus, she had boyfriends in high school that carried her on their backs when she would ask.

Without answering, Jazz forced Zack to turn around and hopped on his back, legs wrap around his center, arms wrapping around his neck. Zack grunted at the sudden addition of weight and the feel of Jazz's large amount of bracelets against his neck.

"Mush," Jazz commanded, pointing toward the door of the building.

Zack chuckled, shaking his head. She was awfully amusing sometimes. The energy drinks must have finally been catching up to her.

He followed her command, walking the rest of the way to the building and through the glass doors. Jazz immediately caught sight of both RxN and All Time Low sitting around in the makeup chairs. It was time to turn on her happiness.

"I'm sorry about your back in advance," Jazz whispered in Zack's ear.

"What?" Zack asked.

He knew this wouldn't end well.

Jazz giggled; he may regret offering to give her a piggyback ride in a matter of seconds. Oh well, it was his fault for offering.

Jazz made sure there was a smile still on her face. It wasn't fake at the moment simply because Zack had cheered her up. But she needed to make sure it didn't drop as they approached the bands.

"Mush, Beatrice," Jazz exclaimed, loud enough for the band members to hear.

She hopped on Zack's back a few times for extra measure, causing Zack to grunt. Zack stopped walking when they reached the group. Every band member was staring at them, gazes full of exhaustion and confusion.

"Did I tell you that you could stop, Beatrice?" Jazz asked, squeezing his sides with her thighs.

"I'll drop you," Zack threatened.

"Why the fuck are you riding Zack's back?" Dorian asked.

It was earlier in the morning than necessary; he was cranky. He, like Lestat, hadn't even taken the time to do his hair that morning.

"Because its fun," Jazz replied.

"I'm pretty sure you're supposed to do it the other way. Unless you're into role reversal, of course," Dorian stated.

"It's too early for those types of comments," Arpeggio groaned.

"Did you call Zack 'Beatrice'?" Lestat asked, mind slowly wrapping around the situation.

"That's his new name. Right, Beatrice?" Jazz asked.

"I'm not joking. I will drop you on your ass," Zack returned.

"There's too much cushion there to do any damage," Dorian mumbled.

Jazz stuck her tongue out at Dorian. He raised an eyebrow in response. He didn't understand Jazz sometimes. No matter what the situation, she was hyper. Even early in the morning, she was hyper and she normally got less sleep than the other band members. Was that normal?

"Has anything major happened yet?" Zack asked.

"Joseph is setting up the cameras. The hairstylist and makeup artist aren't here yet but they should be showing up in ten minutes. All of the shoots for us are the same one's he announced at dinner. The other two bands will be doing their shoots after us," Neon replied.

She was probably the only one of the members that had retained that information. Alex may have too. They were used to waking up early to take care of the twins, who were now sound asleep in both of their arms.

Mentally, Jazz began to panic. In ten minutes, she would be getting ready for a partial reenactment of her personal hell. However, she would be playing a "willing" participant.

She didn't know if she could do this.