Like Fire & Gasoline

The cushioned door to the recording booth slammed shut, shaking the viewing window in the wall. Three heads looked up at James, whose face was a mask of pure rage. Carlos, Logan, and Kendall watched, their eyes involuntarily widening at the sight.

His hazel eyes caught on and twitched in annoyance. “Can I help you?”

“Chill out dude,” Kendall mumbled.

The other two ducked their heads away, suddenly interested in the dynamics and wiring of the microphones. Kendall didn’t flinch as James glared him down, though. Instead, his thick eyebrows were knit in concern for his friend.

“Whatever,” James muttered back.

The four quickly set out to begin the song. As the slow, melodic harmony filled their ears, each took his turn at the love-struck lyrics. When it came to James, though, the heartfelt words and rhymes were mangled.

“James, are you okay?” Logan finally asked hesitantly as their producer cut the tune.

“Fine,” James said grudgingly, kicking at the plush gray carpeting.

Again, the other boys exchanged a look. Their worry seeped into the air, no matter how hard James tried to ignore it.

“C’mon dude, what’s going on,” Carlos urged, picking up his flimsy plastic water bottle.

James looked at them warily, weighing the consequences in his mind. “Bridgette and I got into a fight.”

“Again?” Carlos blurted out, before Logan effectively smacked him on the back of his head.

“Yes, again!” James yelled, his hands finding their way to his head.

He tugged at the ends of his hair, trying to find his sanity. Something about Bridgette drove him crazy. She was infuriating, complicated, stubborn, and so aggravating.

“Sorry,” Carlos mumbled, bowing his head.

James sighed, looking apologetically at him. His hand ran through his chestnut locks, tousling them, and he made his way over to Carlos.

“I’m sorry, it’s not your fault,” he muttered, patting his shoulder.

Carlos nodded, his dark eyes holding a look of sympathy. Something about it caught James off guard, and he retreated back into his thoughts.

The same fight played over and over in his head. He couldn’t bring himself to be calm and sorry, though. Not now; not yet. The blood rushing through his veins was boiling. He wanted to forget. He wanted to go back to not caring.

“To hell with this,” he grumbled, heading for the door.

Kendall raised his eyebrows, quickly matching James’ pace. Logan and Carlos trailed close on their heels. They could hear the producer yelling, but James didn’t slow down. As long as he was moving, so were the others.

James brushed past their manager in the hall, not meeting his eye. “I can’t do this right now. I have to get out.”

He didn’t listen to the response, or the words of apology that Kendall, Logan, and Carlos threw at the middle-aged man that was already out of his sight.

“James, where are we going?” Logan asked, exasperatedly.

James paused for a moment, the cool autumn breeze finally surrounding him as he exited the stuffy building. He looked from the setting sun to the expectant looks on his best friends’ faces.

"I'm going to forget this whole stupid ordeal. I don’t know what you're doing.”

“We’re coming with you. Because we’re brothers, and we don’t let each other do stupid things,” Logan said confidently, giving James a half smile.

“Or at least are there to make sure you hear about it the rest of your life,” Kendall tacked on.

The corners of James’ lips twitched up just the slightest bit, but none of the grin reached his hazel eyes. He gave his muscular shoulders a dramatic shrug, shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn out jeans.

“If that’s how you guys wanna spend your night…”

“Well, someone has to make sure you make it home okay,” Carlos piped up, a goofy smile on his lips.

“Oh, and make sure you don’t throw up on anyone,” Logan added.

“And let’s not forget passing out on Main Street,” Kendall laughed.

James’ eyes narrowed into slits. “Completely different situation, and one-time thing.”

“Whatever you’re calling it, it was hilarious,” Kendall retorted.

“It was my twenty-first birthday,” James defended. “I had to make it memorable.”

“Then its awfully ironic that you don’t remember any of it,” Kendall snorted.

James threw his hands up, giving his eyes a big roll. “Whatever.”



“How’s it going?” Carlos slurred, walking over to James.

James looked up from his bar stool, the half-empty glass in his hand. He shrugged, his other hand drumming against the mahogany bar. Carlos’ glazed eyes examined him a bit before he stumbled over to where Logan and Kendall were immersed in a match of darts.

He watched the ice swirling in the glass before a feminine voice shocked him out of his daze. “Haven’t seen you around here before.”

His eyes zeroed in on the girl’s face. She looked to be around his age, and in all likelihood was a college student. Her platinum blond hair was teased, and the chocolate roots were beginning to show through. She was by all means pretty, although it was obvious to most she tried almost too hard.

She looked like a stereotype of James’ many past flings.

“I’m James,” he offered, giving her a dazzling smile.

In almost an instant, Hollywood-James was resurfacing. The blond beamed, her blue eyes sparkling.

“Vanessa,” she responded.

The conversation seemed to flow with an easy that could only be produced by alcohol. James didn’t even know how much time had passed, or where his friends were. He knew that his head was fuzzy and spinning, and that Vanessa was really attractive.

As her drunken giggling faded a bit, he saw her bite her lip a bit. Before he could tell what was going on, her face was getting closer to his.

Hollywood-James seemed to be in a battle with his newly reclaimed self. There was a nagging in his brain that hadn’t been there merely months before.

She was close enough that he could feel her breath tickling against his skin.

His mind was coming up with a million things that weren’t right about her suddenly. Her hair wasn’t as soft and vibrant as Bridgette’s. Her eyes were blue, but a duller shade, more laced with gray, nothing like the bright cerulean of Bridgette’s. She had on too much makeup, and he couldn’t even tell what she probably really looked like with out it.

The biggest and only thing wrong though, was that she wasn’t Bridgette.

“I have a girlfriend,” he blurted out suddenly, jumping back so violently he almost tipped his stool.

The girl scoffed, her manicured nails brushing over his cheek softly.

“Do you love her?” she asked softly, her strong perfume filling James’ nostrils.

He blinked a few times, the heat rushing to his cheeks. James Maslow didn’t fall in love. His heart beat against his chest in a way he was unfamiliar with.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, taking a gulp of the tawny liquid in his glass.

Vanessa smirked. “Most people don’t go around kissing randoms when they love their significant other.”

She got up, and James watched as she walked away, her stilettos clinking against the floor.

He didn’t want to think about her retort. He didn’t want to think about love or girls or anything. His head was throbbing, and he staggered around to find his friends to take him home.