Bite Your Tongue

10:35 A.M.
Korinne;;

Stevie, it turned out, had a crippling fear of flying and couldn’t so much as step foot in an airport without first downing as much alcohol as she could get her hands on. She’d started drinking the second we’d left my house, and I’d been left to my own devices until Stevie’s mom joined us. The two were remarkably similar in appearance, sharing the same shapely build, honey-colored hair, and green eyes. And their personalities were almost identical, so while Stevie had been a giggling mess, explaining with cheerful abandon to random people around us all the ways in which we could die on an airplane, her mother had practically talked my ear off. By ten-thirty, the time we’d gotten on the plane, I knew so much about Stevie’s family that I probably could have written a dissertation on them. Both Stevie and her mom settled down considerably after takeoff, however, and I was once again gifted with some alone time.

For a moment I had been afraid that my mom would refuse to let me go to Europe with Stevie, that she would suddenly start caring and say that going out of the country with a friend she’d never had the time to meet was out of the question. But she’d agreed quickly and excitedly, stating that it would be a great experience and that she wished she could go with me. She’d also given me one of her extra credit cards and told me to have fun and buy myself something nice.

Sometimes my mom’s absentmindedness worked in my favor.

The only thing she’d done that demonstrated the slightest amount of parenting skills was make me promise to call home every couple of days so she’d know I hadn’t been murdered or kidnapped and sold into prostitution. It was a minor concession, so I didn’t mind.

The plane suddenly shook with a wave of turbulence, jolting Stevie, who was sitting next to me, out of her drunken slumber.

“Omigod. Are we dying?” she mumbled.

I rolled my eyes.

“It’s just turbulence, Stevie.”

“‘Kay. Good.” She adjusted her pillow and closed her eyes.

Her current state was the quietest she’d been since about halfway through the flight, after she’d bribed a flight attendant into giving her champagne even though she was underage and then proceeded to describe to me in great detail the symptoms of deep vein thrombosis, a blood clot that could be formed from sitting on long flights. I’d been tuning her out ever since.

Fortunately, she stayed quiet for the remainder of the flight, returning to a sleep so deep that it took both her mother—who’d insisted that I call her Janet, since Mrs. Ryan made her sound way too old—and I shaking her to wake her up.

“I’m awake, I’m awake! Jesus! Stop shaking me!” she exclaimed, twisting away.

We stopped.

Stevie glared at us and reached for the plastic cup on her tray, which still contained a small amount of champagne.

“God. If I wanted my brain jostled around inside my skull, I would have asked.”

“Are you sure it’s not just a headache from your, erm…method of dealing with your fear of flying?” Janet asked timidly.

“Of course not.” She tossed back the rest of her drink. “Are we there yet?”

I lifted up the cover over the window. Several enormous clusters of tiny buildings were visible through the glass.

“We’re close,” I said. “The pilot announced that we were beginning our descent while you were sleeping.”

“Oh, God.”

Stevie handed me her empty cup and tightened her seatbelt. Then she began to rapidly make the sign of the cross.

“Um…Stevie…”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” She continued to cross herself in such a frenzied manner that a young child passing by on the way back to his seat gave her a perplexed look.

“But…you’re not religious…are you even allowed to cross yourself if you’re not religious?”

“Hell if I know. But if this keeps the plane’s wheels from breaking off when we land, then I’m going to do it.”

I left her alone after that.

Once we landed, she resumed normal behavior—well, behavior that passed as normal for her. As we collected our bags, she chattered away animatedly about how much I was going to love London; about all the fun things were going to do, and about how much effort she was going to put forth to make sure I didn’t have any time to think about anything going on back home. I expressed my thanks as we exited the plane.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” she said. “You are going to enjoy this even if it kills you.”

“…I’m not sure how to respond to that.”

Stevie rolled her eyes. “I was joking. God. Loosen up a little. We’re on vacation, remember?”

“Right. Vacation.” I tried my hardest to act cheery despite the jet lag and hunger plaguing my system. “Whee!”

Stevie simply shook her head and pulled me toward the line of people waiting to go through the post-flight security checkpoints. The lines for passport control and Customs were ridiculously long, and it took forever for Stevie and her mom to locate their bags at the baggage claim—I’d only brought one suitcase, and was therefore done within a few minutes—so it was well over an hour before we were able to leave. Janet insisted that we stop at Starbucks on the way out, and though a frappuccino wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped to placate my growling stomach with, I ordered one anyway, and sipped it contentedly as Stevie led the way outside.

“When can we eat?” I asked Stevie. Her mom was busy trying to get us a taxi.

“You could have gotten something from Starbucks, Korinne.”

“I don’t want a snack, though. I’m fucking starving. I want some real food, like some pasta drowned in alfredo sauce or a meatball sandwich—-”

“Okay, stop it,” Stevie said, laughing. “Now you’re making me hungry.”

“I can’t help it!”

“We’ll have lunch once we get to the hotel, don’t worry.”

“Thank God.” It suddenly occurred to me that I had never asked where we were going to be staying. “Um, Stevie? We’re not staying at some super-fancy hotel, are we? ‘Cause I don’t think any of my clothes are nice enough…”

She gave a wave of her hand. “You’ll be fine. It’s not like we’re going to Buckingham Palace or anything. It’s just the St. Regis.”

I nearly dropped my frappuccino.

JUST the St. Regis?!

Only someone with ridiculous amounts of money could refer to one of the nicest five-star hotels on earth with such nonchalance.

“Stevie, do you know how much it costs to stay in that hotel?”

“I think it’s like, five hundred a night.” She shrugged and took a sip of her latte. “Something like that.”

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“I can’t let your mom pay for me to stay there!”

Stevie looked at me like I was crazy.

“Uh, she kind of already paid for it.”

“Oh my God!”

“I don’t know what you’re freaking out about; it’s not like you’re paying for it.”

She had a point. Even though she’d said I could pay for myself if I wanted to, she’d refused to let me finance anything except for my plane ticket. It might have been normal for her to spend exorbitant amounts of money on hotels, but it was completely unnatural for me, and no matter how much she insisted that I needed a vacation, I didn’t feel right letting her pay that much for me.

“I just…I don’t know…No one’s ever spent this much money on me. I feel kind of pathetic.”

“You’re only pathetic if you don’t take advantage of this opportunity,” Stevie said. “If you spend this entire trip holed up in your room thinking about Br—uh, things back home, I may be forced to physically harm you.”

“..Thanks?”

“You’re welcome. Now come on.” She seized my wrist and pulled me in the direction of the taxi now idling by the curb. “We have relaxing to do.”

“Yes,” I agreed, trying to keep my thoughts focused on the here and now and not on a certain person who Stevie had almost mentioned. “We have some major relaxing to do.”

It was a short ride from the airport to the hotel, and I did my best not to freak out again as we pulled up in front of a beautiful white building. Even the nicest hotel I’d ever stayed in didn’t come close to this. We were treated like royalty every step of the way, and it was awesome. I had the strongest urge to photograph everything, but I didn’t want to look like a dumb tourist, so I resisted the urge and instead trailed after Stevie as we were shown to our room.

“In case you were wondering, we’re not sharing a bed,” Stevie said. “The room’s got two beds—it’s enormous. You’d have your own room, but my mom didn’t want me by myself, and I didn’t want you by yourself, not after that little junk food incident yesterday.”

“I said I was fine.”

“Oh, okay. Sure.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”

The guys who were showing us to our room—several very polite, very cute butlers—opened the door for us and began to point out out some of the room’s special features. Stevie told her mom, who had the room across from ours, that we’d meet her downstairs in a few minutes, and headed inside. I, however, stood frozen in the doorway, mouth agape. Everything about the room screamed ‘luxury’. Directly in front of me was a large window from which curtains were being pulled back by one of the cute butlers to reveal a breathtaking view of a seemingly never ending expanse of lush greenery. Next to the window sat a bed large enough to comfortably accommodate a family of five. Across from the bed was a small sitting area; one of the butlers was arranging some sugary goodies, a few bottles of mineral water, and some fresh fruit on top of the table.

I took a few tentative steps forward and almost ran into the butler who was carrying my suitcase into a nearby closet I had apparently failed to notice.

“Are you all right, miss?” he asked me in a yummy accent.

“Um, yeah. I’m fine.”

He smiled and began to hang up my clothes. “Good.”

You should have said you weren’t okay just so he would talk to you some more.

Oh, God, I know. His accent is SO sexy.

Now all you need is to get Brian to talk like that twenty-four seven, and you’ll have the perfect man.

Okay, I’m ignoring you now.

I moved farther into the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Stevie flop down onto another enormous bed on the other side of the cavernous room. She had her own sitting area and closet as well. When she saw me looking, she glanced over towards her closet, her gaze landing on the rear end of the butler who was bent over her suitcase. She looked back at me and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“You have a boyfriend,” I mouthed.

“Yeah, but you don’t. Not officially,” she mouthed back. She gave me a smug smile, knowing I couldn’t argue—sure, Jimmy and I had kissed, but it wasn’t like he’d asked me to officially date him or anything.

I told Stevie that she sucked and turned to help myself to some fruit. Part of me wanted to just say that Stevie was crazy and be done with it. But another part knew that she had the right idea. I didn’t have any binding commitments tying me down, so what was wrong with having a little fun? We were in Europe, after all, and there was no way I was going to ruin it for myself by spending the entire time sulking. With the opportunity to have a good time—an opportunity with a dreamy accent and a nice ass—dangling right in front of me, it’d be just plain dumb to let it pass by.

Like Stevie had said earlier, I was going to have fun. Even if it killed me.

+++

2:54 P.M.
Brian;;

“Brian, I swear to God, if you don’t stop checking your phone every three minutes like some goddamned thirteen-year-old girl waiting for her boyfriend to call, I will be forced to kick you in the balls.”

I looked up from the perpetually empty screen of my cell phone to see Zacky glaring at me.

“Sorry.”

“You’re being kind of pathetic, you know that?”

With a sigh, I agreed. “Yeah.”

He gave me a brief sympathetic look before snatching the phone out of my hands.

“Hey!”

“You were an idiot. She’s not going to call you. Get over it.”

“But…she might, you never know!”

Zacky shook his head.

“We have a CD to make. Get your ass off that couch before I do it for you.”

I sighed again and followed orders. I was already in a shitty mood, and I didn’t want to make it worse by pissing anyone off with my misery.

I still had no idea what had possessed me to tell Korinne how I felt about her. I hadn’t even known that I felt that way until the words were coming out of my mouth. Maybe it had been the shock of seeing her after the fight with Jimmy and all that. I was clueless. And, as Zacky had so kindly pointed out, I was an idiot. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Korinne had been right to yell at me. I couldn’t just go around telling people that I loved them, especially not when I had a pregnant girlfriend—no matter how psychotic said pregnant girlfriend was.

“Is everyone here?” Matt asked, walking into the room. He had his cell phone in his hand, his fingers moving over the keys.

“Yes, yes, we’re all here,” Zacky replied irritably, gesturing to me, to Johnny sitting on the floor, and to Jimmy on the other side of the room, tapping out a random rhythm on the table with his drumsticks. “Now stop texting your girlfriend. We should try to get at least one song recorded today.”

“Chill out, man. Since when did you become Mr. Responsibility?” Matt laughed. “Stevie’s in Europe. I’m just making sure she’s okay.”

Zacky rolled his eyes.

“Did her mom get mad at her dad again?”

“Yep.”

“Not fair. I wish I got to go to Europe every time my parents fought,” Jimmy said.

Johnny nodded his head in agreement. “I know, right?”

Matt’s phone beeped, and he raised his eyebrows as he read his newest message.

“Huh. Apparently, she dragged Korinne along with her.”

“What?!” Jimmy and I shouted simultaneously.

“Oh, Jesus,” Zacky muttered.

“How could she leave the country and not mention it to anyone?”

I was all too aware of the fact that we weren’t together anymore, and that I had freaked her out with what I said yesterday, but leaving the country was still a pretty big fucking deal.

“She didn’t have to tell you, Brian.”

“Jimmy, unless you want those drumsticks shoved up your ass, I suggest that you shut up.”

“No, you shut up. She’s not yours anymore, and acting like this only makes you look like a dumbass. So how about you try getting over yourself and realizing that she’s moved on—”

“Shut up!”

“ENOUGH!” yelled Zacky. “Both of you, shut the fuck up. Jesus Christ.”

“But—”

“If you two don’t stop arguing, I will kick you out of the band.”

Jimmy snorted. “You wouldn’t. You’re not that much of bastard.”

Zacky glared at him. “Really? Keep this shit up, and see what happens.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Zacky, don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh?” Matt said.

“No. Not at all.”

“You’re threatening to kick us out!” I shouted. “What the hell is your problem?”

“My problem? My problem is that you two are fighting over a girl, for no reason except for the fact that both of you are stubborn as fuck and won’t even consider a compromise. Jimmy, you should have at least said something about liking Korinne. Brian, you shouldn’t even give a shit about who Korinne is dating, since you have a girlfriend. God. Both of you are just…so fucking stupid.”

Silence fell upon the room. Jimmy and I scowled at each other.

“I’m not saying that you have to be best friends again. I know neither of you are going to apologize. Just…at least try to not want to kill each other all of the time. I really don’t want to have to look for a new drummer and guitarist,” Zacky said.

I knew him well enough to know that he was being serious. And that sucked. I wanted to get along with Jimmy about as much as I wanted to jump into a tank of piranhas, but there was no way I was going to throw away all of the hard work I’d done for the band just because I didn’t like the guy. I could cope. At least, I was pretty sure I could.

“Fine,” I said. “I hate your guts, Jimmy, but I’ll try to be civil if you will.”

“Super.”

“Shake hands,” Zacky ordered.

“Oh, come on. Is that really necessary?”

“Shake. Hands.”

Reluctantly, Jimmy and I shook hands. I discreetly tried my hardest to crush his fingers, and I was almost positive he was doing the same to me.

“Excellent,” said Zacky. “Now can we get to work, please?”

Each of us quickly settled into our comfort zones—Matt working with a melody, Jimmy messing around on the drums, Johnny working on his bass part, and Zacky and I attempting to perfect the solos we’d been working on for a while. Soon I was content, lost in the movement of my fingers and the sounds emanating from my guitar. The day had started off really shitty, but it had turned around, and I was determined not to let my semi-okay mood slip away.

Just as my solo was starting to sound kind of good, my phone vibrated, and I nearly dropped my guitar. I snatched the phone out of my pocket like I was about to call 911, prompting Zacky to raise an eyebrow at me. I knew he thought I was pathetic, but I didn’t really care. I checked the screen of the phone, hoping to see what I wanted. Sure enough, the device told me that I had a new text message…from Zoe.

FUCK.

I considered throwing the phone across the room and watching it shatter into pieces against the wall. But, as I had to keep reminding myself, Zoe was carrying my child, and somehow, despite her recent insanity, I still felt obligated to take care of her. I just hoped she wasn’t asking me to get her anything too ridiculous. I clicked on the message with all the enthusiasm of someone about to be executed.

Just got back from the doctor. Baby’s due in January :D

I stared at my phone for a few seconds, shocked. January wasn’t that far away. I would be a father in a little over six months, and I would be forever tied to Zoe, with no way out.

I let the phone drop to the floor and pushed away any recollection of the message. I knew I probably should have replied. But I honestly couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t force myself to be excited about this.

So I grabbed my guitar again, gladly losing myself in the music once more and enjoying life while I still had the chance.