When I Look at the Stars, I Feel Like Myself

Set over, Jack bounds off stage. Screams follow him and his band mates. Most are the screams of young females, though there are some male voices in the mix. Jack tosses his guitar to a tech. It sails to the man and lands in his hands with precession I'd be too afraid to attempt to strive for. Jack doesn't look to see if his guitar has landed, too sure of himself to look, but scoops me into his sweaty hold and lifts me from the ground. Laughing, I hook my legs around his waist to keep from falling, my arms clutching his shoulders.

And his lips meet mine. Not forceful, not rough. Firm, with intentions of stirring emotions in me that only he seems to be able to. His lips are soft, a contrast with the calloused hands pressed to my back, against the skin peeking from under my tank top, to hold me up. My stomach flips, my heart hammers in my ears, and heat rushes through my body. The backstage area dissolves. Jack is all that matters in the moment. I focus on him, on his kiss, on the feelings bombarding me. I don't care that people can see us, that Dalton is probably making comments nearby. All I care about, all I want, is Jack.

Jack pulls away, breaking our moment. He smiles at me, that gorgeous smile that rouses as much feelings as his kiss. But I pout. I didn't want him to pull away. I wanted to keep kissing him.

"What?" he laughs.

A verbal answer probably would suffice. A simple "stop pulling away when I don't want you to, you stupid jackass" would get the point across. Yet, it doesn't feel like enough. So I do what I think is better.

I kiss him.

He makes a surprised noise but goes along with it anyway. At this point, he probably thinks I'm crazy. I wouldn't blame him. Either that or he thinks watching him perform for the first time has made me that excited, which isn't the case. He was fun to watch, hyping the crowd up like an idiot and bantering with Alex as if his life depended on it. But that wasn't what did this. No, the big ninny's kisses do this, always do this. I don't think I can ever get enough of him.

Oddly, I find a distraction from my want to vomit when I'm touching him. There is no room for those thoughts with him. His kisses, his touch, those are an addiction in themselves, one strong enough to slowly make thoughts of vomiting disappear into an abyss somewhere. We'll get to the point, one day, where we'll be able to give ourselves to each other fully, and I know I'll never be able to stop. I'll always want him, always need him, always trust him to give me the things I need.

Is that what love does? Makes you so emotionally dependent that you can't imagine life without the person? I like to think so.

I break away from Jack's lips, taking a large gasp of air. My lungs fill rapidly but are not angry. They understand my need to kiss Jack. They feel it, too. Humming need courses through my whole body, traveling through veins, reaching dark regions that have never been disturbed. Jack does this.

"You good?" Jack asks, smile playing on the corners of his lips.

With a content sigh, I nod and rest my head in the crook of his neck. I do want more, but I don't think suffocation from kissing is a very good way to go. Or maybe it is. I wouldn't know. But I'm not ready to die.

Keeping my body against Jack's, I let my legs unwrap from around his waist and fall to the ground in order to stand. We stay in embrace for a moment. Neither of us moving but enjoying each other's company. I like the feel of him against me. Our bodies fit perfectly, eliciting sheer enjoyment from me.

I love him.

I used to hate him, used to want to punch him for all his stupid comments.

And, now, I love him

"I think we need to setup a Jack and Holli-bear hotel room fund," Dalton teases.

"Oh, Holly, would you turn him on," Calvin adds.

Dalton laughs and high-fives him. Jack's body rumbles with a chuckle. And I resist the urge to pounce that clever little son of a bitch. They ruined my moment. Stupid jerks and their stupid mouths. Can't they go away, or shut up?

I admit, I'm a tad cranky. Pent up frustration of all kinds does that to you. And there's not much I can do about that. Except, maybe, take Jack to a room backstage, which isn’t a bad idea. Jack wouldn't complain.

But I don't want to lose it in a backroom on tour. Memorable, but not how I want it to happen.

"Stop encouraging them," Ross says, "I don't a need a pregnant bulimic on my hands."

"We can setup a Jack and Holland protection fund, too," Calvin says.

"You guys suck," I grumble, pulling my face from Jack's neck and pouting.

"No, that's just Dalton," Calvin says.

"Well, if Stephen were here—"

"We're leaving," I cut Dalton off, grabbing Jack's hand and tugging him away from the group.

I don't want to know what he'd do to Stephan if he were here. Don't get me wrong, they are absolutely adorable, but I don't want to know. They can do whatever they damn well please as long as I don't hear dirty details. That applies to the whole band.

Because I'm still not that close with them.

I try, I do, but it's hard. Friendship is difficult for me, because I've never truly had friends. Acquaintances, sure. I'm not completely incompetent when it comes to social situations. But friends. I don't get close enough to people for that. Maybe this would have been easier if I had tried in the beginning, when I first joined the band. I didn't though. We all have our place in the band. Mine happens to be the recluse. And it's not the band's fault. It's mine.

Recluse seems to be the only place for me in the band.

Intimate relationships are just as foreign to me. I think I'm doing well with figuring out how to act with Jack. But I know I'm still a little awkward. My emotions and hormones are on overload around him constantly, I can't get enough, I always want to touch him and be around him. I feel like a freshman in high school whose first boyfriend is the senior star quarterback.

How embarrassing.

Jack taps my nose with his index finger. "Stop thinking."

I rub my nose, pretending his abuse hurt it, and pout up at him. He laughs and shakes his head. He doesn't do what he's supposed to do, which is kiss it better. Clearly, he doesn't understand my mock-injured façade.

The outside air whips around us as we walk through the parking lot hand-in-hand. It's cool, drying Jack's post-performance body, knocking his body heat down. His hand is warm despite the wind's attempts.

"Can I sleep on your bus tonight?" I ask.

"Why not your bus?"

Pulling a face, I say, "Ross is there."

Jack chuckles, "You have plenty of tricks to get around him."

"But it's exhausting."

That man has become the bane of my existence. Him and his stupid mock-facility. But I have come up with tricks to get around the rules he's set. Jack knows about them. Ross doesn't.

"Then give in and get better."

"No."

Jack stops us in front of the All Time Low bus. His Labrador brown eyes penetrate my blue ones, reading me better than anyone can, making my knees feel a little weak. The corners of his lips tug downward. I don't think my answer made him happy. I'm not saying "no" to getting better. I'm saying "no" to giving in to Ross and his demands. You can't give in to totalitarians like that. Giving them what they want only makes them want more.

I wonder what Ross would say if I called him a totalitarian to his face.

"Holl, I want you to promise me something," Jack says.

"Anything."

The response is quick, without thought. I'd promise Jack the world if he asked for it.

"When tour ends, I want you to get help. Professional help. I want you to be healthy."

We haven’t really talked about this, about getting real help. I should have expected the conversation to come up. Jack cares about my well-being, wants to see me get over this, wants us to have a good relationship. And how can our relationship be everything he needs if I'm not okay? I want to make him happy. He's put up with so much, he deserves to have a girlfriend who is what he wants.

This isn't just for him, though. I'm ready to get better. I can admit I'm not okay and that I need the help. I can't wait to love myself the way I should, to look in a mirror and actually think I'm beautiful.

"Okay," I say.

"Okay?" Jack asks, his face morphing in confusion.

I don't think he was expecting me to go down without a fight. That fight's reserved for Ross and his goddamn rules.

"Yeah, I'll get help," I say.

"You promise?"

Those adorable Labrador brown eyes are coated with hope. Heat rushes through my body again, and I want to throw Jack against the bus. He needs to stop looking at me like that. I'm trying not to lose my virginity on tour. I thought that was a reasonable goal when Jack and I became a couple. I didn't anticipate the rush of hormones I continually feel around him becoming such a problem.

I try to stifle my feelings, not wanting them to get in the way of my decision making processes. "Yes, Jack. I'm ready to start seeing someone."

"That's great."

He's happy. I can hear it. He's trying not to sound too happy about me admitting I need help. He must know how hard it is for me to admit something so big. But I'm happy that he's happy. And I'm happy that I can finally do this for myself. This is something we should celebrate.

"A little scary," I mumble.

"You'll be fine. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Will you... help me pick the right person to see?"

I can't do this on my own.

A warm smile spreads on his face. "Of course I can help you. We can start looking at places tonight."

Tempting. Let's see, look at therapists online or make out in Jack's bunk?

I think the answer to that is obvious.

"I don't think that's going to happen tonight," I say, shaking my head.

"Why not?"

He's confused again. His eyebrows are furrowed, his mouth in a sort of frown that is absolutely adorable in its own right. Thoughts swim in his eyes, trying to find an explanation for my statement.

He may be thinking the worst, that I don't really want to get better, that it's all a lie. But it's not. I would never lie to him about getting better. Not now. I might have in the past, before I could admit to myself I can't keep vomiting. This is now, not then. And I can't lie to him. There are more important things to our relationship than lies.

I smirk. "There's this rollercoaster in your bunk. I've heard it's pretty good."

Jack's face becomes blank. His breath is hidden in his lungs, any words he would use in the situation stuck in his vocal cords. Without a sound, he turns to the bus door and punches in the security code. The door slides open, noiseless.

"Let's go."

He eagerly tugs me onto the bus. I don't resist, following him up the short staircase. The door closes behind us, and I'm pushed against the buses control panel with Jack's lips against mine before I can comprehend what's happening. My heart is beating wildly. I'm almost positive that heart attack is going to happen, and I don't give a damn. The heat increases in my body, almost unbearably so, at the rougher than normal treatment.

No one's on the bus, I know that much. The Maine still has to perform, and most people won't be returning to the buses until they have to.

And this control panel is anything but comfortable.

I clearly specified a rollercoaster in his bunk, not on the control panel.

Pulling away from Jack's lips, I attempt to pant some word to get across that we need to move. But his lips reattach to mine as soon as I gulp down a bit of air. I'd be upset but his persistence is admirable.

If he hadn't been persistent, we wouldn't be together.

I grip his hair and tug him off my lips, just enough so I can speak. "Jack, bunk," I gasp out.

He fuses our lips back together and hefts me off the control panel, wrapping my legs around his waist as he had done backstage. Still kissing me, he walks us through the living room area of his bus. He doesn't stumble, doesn't fall or trip. He is very clear on where each object is in the room.

At his bunk, he rips the curtains back and lays me down. Our lips stay locked in a sweet kiss I think I would die without. He gets in the bunk, straddling me, his hands on either side of my head. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, on hand tangling in his hair. His mouth moves from my lips to trail kisses along my chin to my neck. The beat of my heart is so loud I can hear it in my ears, my body is on fire.

But something doesn't feel right.

I think I may know what it is.

I shove Jack off of my body. No explanation, just a shove. Releasing a small noise in shock, he falls onto his back next to me in the cramped bunk. I push myself up, and he watches me, confused once again.

"Holl, what's the matter?"

I don't answer but swing my leg over his body so I'm straddling him. Realization floods his face. The position change wasn't hard for him to understand. Grabbing his chin between my index finger and thumb, I thrust our lips back together, the kiss rougher than any he had ever initiated. My other hand rests on the pillow near his head, and I sit against his more than obvious excitement.

Pulling away for a moment, I mumble, "Much better" and reattach our lips.

I don't like being on the bottom. Jack hardly seems to mind. His hands grip my waist tightly, his excitement is still there. He meets each movement of my lips with the same vigor. I think he may be restraining the urge to grind against me. This is all that's happening tonight, and he knows that. He can respect that. Jack may act like an absolute idiot at times, but he can be a gentlemen. He can respect the boundaries I setup. And I can trust him.

Lungs begging for oxygen, I break the kiss. We're still close, noses touching, breaths mingling. Chest heaving, I stare into Jack's eyes, those Labrador brown depths that hooked me before I ever wanted to be with him.

"I love you," I breathe.

"I love you, too," he returns.

"I promise I'll get better."

"I know."

And our lips attach again.