Define "Normal" For Me Again. I Seem to Have Forgotten

It has been exactly a week since I got on this fucking bus. It’s quite boring. Anyone who has ever said that touring was fun and exciting has obviously never been stuck on a bus with five of the most boring people alive. The only thing good about being stuck on here, was that they bought all my food and I was going as fast as I could (with my now limited cash flow) away from the west coast. They also kept their distance from me, which was fine since I really needed them and it would not be very strategic to kill them at this point in time. I mean, seriously, I’m the only other person (besides the driver, Hank) that was around them 24/7. And did I want to be accused of murder again and sent back to the looney bin again and possibly get the shocks? Hell fucking no! Those bitches hurt! So, no, I’m going to wait out these last few hours and rid myself of them as soon as I can.

“Hey, Tiff, we’ll be stopping in an hour. And we’ll be in New York in about seven hours. Do you want anything?” the burly blonde asked. I still haven’t remembered his name.

“Nope. All peachy here.”

He nodded and half-smiled at me before disappearing to the front of the bus.

I shrugged my shoulders. He was the nicest out of the five to me… actually, he was very annoying. Always asking how I was and if I wanted something. It was fine for the first few minutes and when he buys me food (that’s always a plus), but other than that, it’s extremely irritating.

The next seven hours seemed like seven years. I entertained myself by looking at the cars out the window and counting the number of times one of the guys had come in to see how I was doing- it was 58. I think they figured out my game a few hours ago, because they’re barely coming in now.

“Tiff, we’re here!” One of them yelled.

“Aweh, ruin my fun!” I yelled back sarcastically. I grabbed my bag of clothes that the guys bought for me and followed them out of them out of the bus. I threw the bag in a secluded corner of the backstage area before running back to grab some of the equipment. Toward the end of set-up, one of the amps decided not to work. I was yelling, cursing, and beating the shit out of it before it finally decided to come back on-line and work properly.

“…Yea, she’s a little psycho, but she’s the best roadie/ mechanic we’ve ever had,” I heard the midget say of me.

“She looks familiar. What’s her name?”

“Tiff.”

“Tiffany Angela Sanders! This is where you’ve been?!”

Oh, shit. They found me. I plastered a smile on my face and turned to look at him. “Brian! Missed you in Vegas! How are you?”

He looked behind me and motioned for something with his eyes. Hands pinned my arms behind me. “You’re not getting away this time, Tiff.” My brother’s voice muttered into my ear. “Syn, call the guys. We need to find a safe place to keep her during the show. Then we’re heading to your new home. Wouldn’t you like that, Tiff?”

I squirmed. “No! Matty, please. Please, no… they’ll give me the shocks again!” I said hysterically. “Don’t make me go there, Please! I’m your sister! The only damn family you have!” I jumped and squirmed, but he was used to my antics by now.

His hands tightened around my wrists. “Yea, all because of you.”

“It wasn’t my fault! It was theirs! All theirs!”

The Midget looked at us in confusion when Jimmy and Zacky flew by him. “Wait, what’s going on?”

Jimmy strapped a belt around my shoulders and a second around my waist, making sure that my arms were securely pinned to my side before adding his hand to my left wrist.

“Frank, meet Tiff, my sociopathic sister. Tiff, you already know Frank.” Matt said, switching his hands to my right wrist.

“Wait, what?”

“Tiff has been in and out of asylums for about ten years now.” Johnny explained. “Do you guys need help?”

“Yea, get the door. Gates, Z, get her feet. We’ll take her to the bus. Mitchell knows how to deal with her antics.”

“Matty! No! Don’t send me back! Please! You’re a horrible brother for doing this! I don’t want to go back!” I lashed out and struggled against my bonds. Damn them for knowing how to make a home-made straight jacket. “Matty, it’s your fault I’m like this, you know. If only you didn’t boss me around when we were younger! PLEASE! Don’t let them hurt me! I hate the shocks! I know, let’s give you them and see how you like it! Matty, it’s not my fault, I swear!!! I hate you and it’s all your fault.”

Matt dug his nails into my flesh. “It’s not my fault you don’t have a conscious, Tiff. You’re not going to hurt anyone anymore. I’ve already arranged it.”

I stopped completely. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t… but the look in his eyes said differently…he would. He would completely take away my freedom.