‹ Prequel: Smirt
Status: finished.



“Close the fucking curtains and window right now! Tell the fans that I’ll be out in a few minutes,” I moaned, one arm draped over my eyes. I had a splitting headache courtesy of the hangover I’d been nursing since I woke up. Ellie was outside trying to ward off the fans by advertising merch but it wasn’t working too well.

I didn’t remember much about last night, although I do remember being annoyed. Not quite angry, not quite disappointed. Just annoyed. I tried to coax information out of half of the guys before giving up. They all gave me cryptic, obvious answers like “you got drunk and nearly threw up in your bunk” or “you sat on Ellie’s lap all night like a drunken baby.” I knew how I was when I drank too much. I was incredibly lightheaded at the moment too, which didn’t help jog my memory of last night either. I rolled onto my stomach and buried my face in a pillow, savoring the darkness behind my eyelids. The window better be closed with the curtains drawn whenever I decide to get out of bed.

I drifted off to sleep for about twenty minutes before something was on my back. I tried to squirm and push the thing off my back but it wouldn’t budge. My hand swatted at the unseen perpetrator and I mumbled nonsensical words into the pillow. I hoped they would leave me alone after my rambling but this only encouraged them. Then I heard giggling. “Hey, why are you still sleeping? Put some clothes on and get up.” Another giggle. “Or wait. On second thought, don’t put any clothes on, go outside with just your boxers and entertain the crowd waiting for you.”

“Ellie, I feel like a fucking pile of dog shit on the sidewalk,” I said carefully. “Please, give me one reason why I should get up.”

“Uhm. I’ll tell you what happened last night if you entertain the fans. With clothes on, if you want.” Bribery. I knew it.

“Ok, deal. Get off of me now.”

I got up after Ellie had listened to my agreement, slipping on a pair of jeans ripped at the knees and flip flops. I barely glanced at my reflection, deciding that the fans wouldn’t mind if I opted out of wearing a shirt. It was extremely hot on the bus and I was guessing outside wasn’t any better. You really don’t miss simple amenities like air conditioning until you’re stuck on a tour bus with a bunch of other guys. (And girls.) Ellie was dressed in a t-shirt she’d made herself which read “I’m Christofer Drew’s Merch Bitch” in block lettering. The t-shirt was also tie dyed.

“Tell me what happened before I enter the swarm outside,” I pleaded, remembering to get my guitar out of its case.

Ellie shook her head. “Nu-uh. Not until afterwards, I promise.” She held out her pinkie, which I hooked with mine. We swung them side to side together before letting go.

I swung open the door and was greeted with a group of fans, mainly ones who were underage. They’d probably been my fans before I’d gotten a record deal, for all I knew. I didn’t recognize any face in particular which was totally fine with me. I grabbed a stool near the merch tent and sat down, the throng of people crowding around me at a safe distance.

I smiled at each of them. “Hey, ladies and gents, squirrels and jackalopes. I’m Christofer Drew, of Nevershoutnever and I’m taking song requests before my set. Any takers?”

Hands shot up before I could even comprehend how many there were. A few girls squealed out my name, obviously hyped up for the impromptu acoustic set. I stared each of them down before I picked a shy looking boy who looked around thirteen years old. He was gangly and a ginger, freckles on his sunburned cheeks. His jaw dropped in surprise before he managed to muster, “She’s Got Style, please. That’s my favourite song.”

“I can’t believe he picked you, Elliot!” The girl beside him said too loudly. She smothered her giggles behind her hand, latching onto Elliot’s arm.

“Alright, that I can do. Thank you and I hope I remember the words.” There were a few laughs at that. “Just kidding, of course I’ll remember ‘em. It’s the chords I’m worried about.” I plucked at the strings, glad that the guitar was tuned, before belting out She’s Got Style. I closed my eyes, the notes take over my being, my physical body feeling numb and light.

As I opened my eyes, I saw Dahlia exiting the tour bus, and I refrained from waving or even calling her name. Instead, I sang the rest of the lyrics in her direction. I almost made the mistake of smiling or saying that it was about her in front of the crowd. The obstacle that stopped me was the fact that Carter followed behind her, his hand around her waist. They were laughing, and I think I spied a hickey on his neck as they passed by. They were drinking each other in like the sweet tea I couldn’t ignore on a hot summer day. Just like that, I’d been tossed aside.

I went straight inside after signing a few t-shirts and fans’ arms, desperate to know what Ellie had remembered from the party. She was lounging around on the couch, checking her email on her laptop. I closed the lid, earning a nasty glare from her. Then she took a good look at me and frowned. “I’m sorry, Chris. You wanted to know, didn’t you? The truth?”

I nodded, the pain swirling around in my stomach. “Yeah.”

“Last night, Dahlia and Carter kissed. They weren’t drunk.”

And just like that, the pain settled at the pit of my stomach, like acid, it stung.

It was time to write another song.
♠ ♠ ♠
I feel like whenever I write author's notes I'm talking to nobody.
I'm getting my inspiration back into this story.
c: This is good.

Anyway, I know everyone is hating me for Dahlia suddenly being
interested in Carter but whatever. It happens, ya know? That's life.