When I Look at the Stars, I Feel Like Myself

I sit on the couch, watching Calvin and Dalton play on the PS3. It's a two player game, so RJ and I patiently wait our turns. I couldn't sleep last night, even though I confessed to my band. I guess I thought it would help...?

Whatever, it doesn't help that I'm used to sleeping on the couch... where NOTHING IS MOVING!!!

I hate the tour bus. It's so annoying to try and sleep on this stupid thing.

Holland steps out of the bunk room, finally up. Everyone else has been up for about two hours.

“Damn it,” Calvin yells, referring to an explosion on the game.

“Why does this always happen?” Dalton asks, whining.

“Because you guys fail.” I reply absently. I'm watching Holland from the corner of my eye. I'm really worried about her. I know what I have to do to help her get better, but it doesn't seem like enough. I want her to get better, and I wish she would just accept the help we give her. I know she's going to find any way she can to break the rules written on her paper, but she doesn't have to.

She doesn't want to get better. I know that. She's addicted to vomiting, and there's not much we can do at the moment. Bulimia is different than Riley's cancer, or my rape. All I have to do is learn how to cope, Riley promises to get treatments when we get home, but Holland...

She doesn't want to stop. I wanted nothing more than for it to stop, but it never did. Holland just wanted to lose some weight, but it got out of hand. She just wanted to be loved my her mother, but it never happened.

I hope her mom is fucking happy now.

Holland rushes to the bunk room, breaking me from my thoughts. I was watching her intently, waiting for her to take a bite of her pancakes. I know what she is going for, and I wish she didn't have to resort to that.

She comes back into the room, and I watch her some more. I'm pretty sure that it's making her anxious, with all these eyes boring into her while she eats. I don't really care, I want to watch, in case she tries anything.

She chews all three bites at the same time, wiping her mouth right after. She swallows once, and then it's over. Quick and painless.

But, something was off about that. There's no way that she could swallow that much pancake in one bite. Maybe she swallowed more than once, and I just missed it.

I don't risk calling her out on it; if she really did eat it, I'll just make an ass out of myself. Not to mention, if she didn't eat them, then she would hate me for a long time, because then everyone would watch how much she swallows, too. I don't think I could live like Holland has to now, so I just let it drop.

I know it wasn't right for me to do that, but where would she put the pancakes beside her stomach? I clearly saw here shove them in her mouth. Where else would they go?

I push back the possibilities, none of them making any sense right now. She wouldn't spit them back into her hand, that would be too noticeable.

“Let's play Bomber Man!” RJ exclaims, hooking up the N64.

“Oh, hells yeah!” Calvin enthuses.

“I get to be the white guy!” Dalton yells, raising his hand in the air.

“You racist,” I scold in a mock disbelief voice.

As we start to play, I forget everything around me. I'm not on a crowded bus, I'm not Elina Burgundy, and I'm not on tour with my best friends.

I'm just the little red guy, throwing bombs at everyone, blowing them up. I know it's dumb, but that's what happens every time I start to control someone else on screen, even something as simple as a Bomber Man.

This game is really fun, and holds fond memories for me. I don't think about them, they're just at the back of my mind. I'm happy, I recognize. With a true smile on my face, almost as wide as when I'm smiling with Zack.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, making me yelp in surprise, falling off the couch. Someone's calling me, and we just started this round, so I have to wait until it's over to take the call.

Unfortunately, it won't stop until I pick it up, or the person on the other end hangs up. And it's in my back pocket. My butt happens to be very ticklish.

Eventually, I die because of my laughter. Still giggling, I come back as a ghost. I decide to take the call, instead of controlling others.

“Hello?” I ask, not having looked at the screen to see who was calling.

“Elina, it's me, Zack,” the familiar voice rings in my ears.

“Hi, Zack,” I greet, “What's up?” the 'Zack' gets Dalton's attention, and the round being over, he listens intently to my side of the conversation. Calvin and RJ decide to, too, having nothing better to do.

“I can't call my girlfriend to say 'good morning'?” he feigns hurt.

Apparently, Dalton can hear Zack, too, because he mouths, 'that is so cute!' at me. Blushing, I mumble, “I guess you can,”

“I was just asking you if you wanted to go somewhere before sound check today,”

“Yeah, I'd like that,” I smile, ignoring Dalton's vigorous nodding in front of me.

“How about pizza?” he asks.

“Ugh,” I say, not in the mood for greasy stuff, “I'm thinking chicken sandwiches,” I compromise.

“I know just the place, they have the best chicken in the world,” he exaggerates, “and the fries are amazing, too,”

“Okay,” I agree, “I'll see you then?” it came out as more of a question.

“Can't I talk to you for a little while longer,” I can see his pout over the speakers, “Please?”

“There's no privacy here,” I mutter at Dalton, who is literally kneeling on the ground, with his chin resting on my knees.

“Go somewhere else,”

“I think I will,” I get up to shut myself in my bunk, “Don't follow me!” I call behind me.

“How have you been doing?” he asks, after I tell him it's okay to talk.

“Better,” I say slowly. I hope he didn't expect me to get over it overnight. That's not possible.

“That's good,” he says, “have you thought about... it today?”

I sigh, “A little, but not like I used to,”

“How was that?”

I know he's trying to help me, by understanding my thought process, but I don't want to admit it. I don't want to admit that I thought about it everyday in vivid detail. That makes it seem like I wanted to remember. That's not true, everything reminded me of it, that's all.

“Elina?”

“Oh, uh... I guess, I thought about it all the time,” I pause, “and I remembered every little detail involved,” I whisper, “But now, I only think about the fact that it happened to me. And I remember his face, but that's it. That's all so far,”

“Did you have nightmares last night?”

“No,” I say hesitantly. I don't want to tell him that I didn't sleep. Because the main reason is so I didn't dream. I didn't want to test if the nightmares would return.

“Did you sleep?” he asks, in a different, patient tone.

I pause, hoping he gets the idea.

“Elina, you have to sleep, remember how bad it was for you when you didn't, at the beginning of tour?”

“I remember, but I just couldn't sleep,” I defend, “I didn't want to risk the nightmares,”

He sighs, “Next time you wake up with a nightmare,” he pauses, “Call me. I'm open anytime to talk to you,”

“It won't help,” I say. I soon realize how it sounded, and quickly add, “B-because I can't sleep anyway, not without you!” I cover my mouth with a squeak, eyes wide with surprise.

“What?”

“I can't sleep, not without being in your arms,” I sigh, admitting defeat, “Not even Dalton helps anymore,”

“Aww...” he coos, “I'm touched,”

“Shut up,” I mutter, obviously embarrassed.

“Well, we'll be at the hotel later tonight, so you can get some sleep then,” he says.

“That's good, I really could use some right now,”

“Do you get motion sick?”

“Uh, random, but no.” I reply.

“Then try opening your window and closing your eyes.” he advises, “It helps me. You could at least calm down,”

“Okay,” I say.

“I have to go,” Zack says, “Jack is--”

I cut him off, “I don't think I want to know what Jack's trying to do,” I laugh.

“You're right, you don't want to know.”

“See you,” I say, after sharing a laugh together.

“See you,” he returns, but doesn't hang up.

“Bye,” I say.

“Bye,” he says back, still not hanging up.

“This is where you hang up,” I inform.

“If you're so worried about it, why don't you hang up?” he asks.

“Because you said 'bye' last, it's your job!” I exclaim. Wow, I never thought this would happen to me. It seems so cliche. We're arguing about who has to hang up first.

“But, you could but hang up,”

“But then I would wonder if you were going to say something after ward,”

It continues for a little longer, until I say, “Okay, we should stop, this is getting ridiculous. I'll hang up, now,” I say.

“Okay, bye,” he says, a smile in his voice.

“Bye,” I say, pressing the red button right after.

I open my window, just like Zack said to, and close my eyes, smiling at the memory of our stupidness. We're such a corny and cliche couple.

Couple. That sounds so good to my mind's ears. Zack and I are a couple, our plans for today proving it.

The wind really does help, I think soothing thoughts until we stop at the venue.

“Sound check in two hours!” Ross calls from the front of the bus, warning all the inhabitants thereof.

My phone rings with a text from Zack. 'Meet me @ back door to venue'.

I type a quick reply, saying I'll be out in five minutes, and throw on something other than a tank top and short shorts.

Right now, we're in Utah, in November, so it's cold. I put on some light-wash skinny jeans with rips down the front, and a t-shirt of a dinosaur attacking a car. I dig out my Converse boots from the bottom of my suitcase, not finding a reason to wear them until now. These weren't good to wear on stage.

I change my nose ring, and my belly button ring. Not that he'll see my belly button in this shirt, but you know. With a few added accessories, and the hoodie Holland gave me for my birthday, I step off the bus and head to the band entrance of the venue.

“Wow,” Zack breaths when I step in the threshold. I haven't put on the jacket yet, and this shirt is tighter than what I normally wear, “You look great,”

“Thanks,” I smile, “You too, Zackykins,”

“Shall we?” he asks, holding his arm out for my to link in mine.

“We shall,” I return, zipping up the jacket.

He pouts suddenly, “That hides all your womanly curves,”

“I'm not too concerned about that,”

“I am,” he says, “Now that I've had a taste, I want more,”

“Too bad,” I say, “It's too cold to not wear a jacket,”

“Cold?” he questions, “It feels nice,”

“Whatever, it's freezing out here!”

“No, this is normal weather,” he argues.

“Hang on,” I pause, “You: Baltimore. Me: Phoenix. I guess we just come from different parts of the climate map,”

“This is true...” he says, “Maybe you could just stay with me in Maryland, then we can get you used to the cold weather,”

I blush and look down, “Zack...” I say softly. His statement reminded me of what I'll have to do when we get home, “If I ever need to get away... Never mind, it's stupid,”

“No tell me,” he asserts. I don't say anything, so he fills in for me, “Of course you can stay with me. I wouldn't just let you walk the streets alone. You can just call me up, and I'll buy your plane ticket out,”

“Thanks,” I mutter, still looking down.

“I don't think you'd like Maryland, actually,” he says, making me look up at him, “You'd like California better,”

I remember when we went to Knott's. Zack was glowing. I know he has a house there, so he's got to love it, too.

“Why don't you just move there?” I ask.

“I have to be close to my band, Elina. And none of them like it as much as I do. They don't want to leave their lives behind, and I don't blame them,”

“Don't you want to stay with your life?” the question sounds kind of weird, but it's the only way I could think of to phrase it.

“I don't know... California, to me, has always been... warmer,” he says, a distant look in his eyes, “And not just the temperature. Sure, the ocean's warmer in Maryland, but there's something about Cali, I don't know how to describe it,”

“So you think you should have been born a California guy?” I ask as we sit down at Arctic Circle with our meals.

“No, because then I wouldn't be a member of All Time Low,” he answers, “Maryland's the best thing that happened to me,”

“But Cali's better?”

He nods, obviously thinking of the sand and sun on the west coast.

“I'd like... to go with you. Someday,” I say.

“Is that a promise?” he smiles.

I nod once, “That's a promise,” we finish the rest of our meals in comfortable silence, and order some ice cream on the way out.

I shiver as we take a stroll down the sidewalk, “Getting a shake, not the best idea,”

“Wimp,” he accuses.

“Excuse me for growing up in a desert.”

Our playful banter continues, as we walk further and further down the road.

In retrospect, we probably shouldn't have taken any turns, because we end up lost.

“Where are we?” I ask, looking at the street signs. They make no sense to me, just a bunch of numbers with a letter after it.

“I don't know...” Zack answers slowly.

“Holy shit, we're lost,” I yelp.

“No, I can make our way back,” Zack assures.

After a few moments of 'retracing our steps', Zack stops, “I got nothing,”

“Arg!” I exclaim, “It think we should have left a brownie-bit trail,”

Zack guards his ice cream, “No, Oreo chunks would have worked much better,”

“Whatever,” I roll my eyes, “Go in that gas station and ask the clerk for directions,”

“Why don't you?”

“Please, that guy will squash me if I inconvenience him,” I say. The guy working the counter is about six foot six, and looks to be over 200 pounds, “You go in there, Mr. I-have-a-membership-to-every-popular-gym-across-the-U.S.-and-even-some-foreign-countries,” I gasp in a breath after that sentence.

“No, I remember where it is, I can find it,” he asserts.

“What is it with men asking for directions?” I ask.

“I don't need the help of some dude that works at a gas station!” he exclaims in a huff.

“Oh, so it's a dominance issue?” I ask slowly, “You're afraid that if you need help from other men, it'll make you look weak,” I smile.

“What?” he defends, “No, I just remember that we took a right turn when we were supposed to take a left,”

He starts to walk away, and I grab his arm, “Zack,” I start, “I promise you that you will remain the top manliest guy that I know, even if you ask that big scary guy for directions,” I assure softly.

His shoulders fall, “Alright,” he sighs.

I browse around the candy section. Zack and I both agreed to approach him with merchandise, so we can talk to him that way. It will be less rude to buy something, than get what we want and leave.

Well, that's essentially how all stores work...

“Elina,” Zack starts, clasping his hand in mine, “Did you mean it?”

“Of course. You'll always be the manliest guy I know, no matter what you do. I don't care if you drink frilly coffee, or something. It doesn--”

“Not that,” he cuts me off, “You'll go to California with me?”

“Yeah, I mean, I think I'll need some time away from Arizona soon,”

“But, you'll be working on booking another tour, won't you? And working on a new EP?”

“No, Zack. Riley has breast cancer, and Holland is bulimic,” I spill, “We'll have to hold everything until at least Riley gets better, I don't know if Holland will go to a formal clinic or not,”

“Riley has... cancer?” he asks slowly. He already knew about Holland, the other bands got a list of Do's and Don't's For Holland , too.

“Yeah, she's promised to get treatments after we get home,”

“I'm planning a trip soon,” he says, “I can find a layover in Phoenix,”

“Okay,” I say.

“Just keep you schedule free,” he winks.

“I don't think that will be a problem,”

“It might be around Christmas time, is that okay?”

“I don't celebrate Christmas anymore,” I admit. I don't let him ask questions, I think he already knows, anyway. Instead, I grab my candy and soda, and head to the checkout counter. Zack keeps his promise, and talks the guy into giving his directions to the venue. Our walk back is short and full of small, happy talk. I'm glad he just let it go.