The Plan

“Ten bottles of beer on the wall, ten bottles of beer!”

“Ya take one down, ya pass it around! Nine bottles of beer on the wall!”

I took another sip of wine out of the bottle before realizing that it was gone. I looked at Simone with wide eyes and a frowning mouth. She grasped the neck of the bottle and turned it upside down. A single drop fell onto the floor.

Organizing shirts was boring. Andy was with Mike and the rest of the guys at rehearsal and some pre-production meeting. While our apartment was usually a breeding ground for the band to eat and be lazy, we’d been seeing less and less of them with tour in way less than a month.

While that made it easier for me to avoid Andy and keep my promise to Mike, it also made it so boring around here that Simone and I turned to getting old lady wasted to stave off the lunacy.

“This isn’t good news at all,” she said, tying her hair up into a messy bun after she put the bottle on the smallest inch of tabletop available. I sighed and plopped messily into the armchair, finding iTunes on the computer and playing it on shuffle.

I pulled up my hair too and in the narrow mirror across the room, Simone and I appraised our appearances. We looked like bums. I was still in yoga pants and a sports bra from when I had motivation to workout. I’d lost it as soon as I noticed the wine in the fridge.

Simone was wearing a pair of cotton pajama shirts and a TDWP hoodie, one of the new ones. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture because our hair looked ridiculous. She made the duck face as I pulled some hideous creation of my own.

She dove into a box of unorganized hoodies and I laughed as the cardboard stretched underneath her body. She threw her fist in the air and the action mildly reminded me of crowd surfing. I collapsed on top of her and we laughed as the door to the room opened.

We looked up to see Mike standing there. Andy was gazing over his shoulder at us. Both glanced over at the wine bottle and then back at us simultaneously. Simone and I nearly died of laughter over it. Before I knew it, strong arms were lifting me off of Simone.

Mike was helping his girlfriend up so I assumed it was Andy who was holding me tightly around the middle. Mike’s eyes flashed cautiously over to us but his drunk girlfriend was hugging him tightly, squealing over how much she missed him throughout the day.

“Did you miss me?” Andy asked me quietly, carrying me out of the room and into the living room. I smirked as he dropped me onto the couch. I vaguely remembered promising Mike I’d be good before I pulled him down onto the couch.

“Of course I missed you,” I said, slurring my words slightly. He laughed as I rested my legs over his lap, sinking comfortably into the couch. He turned on the TV and the news flashed across the screen. I’d been folding shirts and organizing boxes by size and shirt type all day so I was exhausted.

“You look like you’re about to fall asleep you drunk fuck,” he said. I stuck out my tongue at him.

“Live hardcore, breathe hardcore, drink hardcore.”

“It was white wine.”

“Fuck you.”

He chuckled and then stood up, lifting me in his arms again. I groaned and threw an arm over my eyes as I felt motion sickness.

“I’m not so drunk that I can’t walk you know. I can use my own two feet,” I said. He shrugged, passing by the bedroom that I shared with Simone. “Where are you going? That’s my room, my bed is in there!”

“Your bed is in here tonight,” he said softly, nudging his bedroom door open with his foot. He placed me on his unmade bed lightly. “Simone and Mike are having a deep conversation in there and I don’t know, you need to sleep.”

He traced patterns on my bare stomach and I let out a breath of air. In my drunken state, my emotions were running high. I heard Mike laugh loudly and then Simone telling him off for laughing at her. I stared at the ceiling.

“Andy, the ceiling is seven dimensional right now,” I said, my eyes widening as I tried to focus on the ceiling. He laughed, laying down next to me and staring at the ceiling.

“It looks normal to me,” he said. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how drunk are you?”

“I’m drunk enough to remember if we have sex.”

“That’s not why I was asking,” he said, rolling onto his side to face me and grinning. His fingers found my abdomen again, tracing triangles and circles, giving me goosebumps. “I was asking because I want you to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”

I knew exactly what he was doing.

He was trying to manipulate me into telling him what Mike said by taking advantage of my drunken state and my obvious rush of hormones. His face was a few inches from mine and his attractiveness was growing by the second.

“I’m not avoiding you. You’re never home to be avoided,” I countered, attempting to keep my wits about me. Wine drunk never was like a mind drunk. There was still a haze over my brain but I could think through it. It just took me extra time.

“Then you’re treating me different. We never talk anymore or watch movies or get coffee or go to Panera. We just coexist in the same apartment. Why?”

“We’re busy with tour stuff,” I lied, keeping it simple. He bit his lip and I nearly died. The thought of keeping my promise until at least the middle of tour was flying out of my head.

“Did Mike say something to you? I mean, we were so close and then poof! It was gone.”

He looked genuinely upset and I cupped his cheek in my hand, running my thumb in circles over his cheekbone. He closed his eyes as I sighed contently. Moments like these made me feel normal, like I wasn’t part of some freak show that revolved around a band.

“We’re still close okay? No one said anything to me. I’m just busy, I’m sorry that I haven’t made enough time for you,” I said, trying to cover up anything. He settled down next to me, resting his head on my shoulder and wrapping an arm around my waist.

This was getting harder and harder each day.