Props and Mayhem

“Good news!” Jaime shouted through their door the next morning, knocking frantically.
Emme groaned and flung out her arms. “I’d think he was the type to sleep in.”
Jayne glanced up from her sketchbook. “It’s actually pretty late. It’s ten-thirty.” Emme realized that she was fully dressed.
“Seriously?” Emme scrambled up to answer the door. She had to lean against the doorframe afterwards to get rid of the nausea. She’d jumped up too quickly.
Jaime had his eyebrows raised at her when she met his eyes. “You all right?”
“I just got up.” Emme shrugged sheepishly. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”
He actually waited for her to recover before he spoke. “Well, it’s good news for your parents, anyway. We’ve found you guys a flight home.”
“Who did?” Jayne demanded, setting down her pencil.
“Our tour manager. You have to love the guy—he really comes through for us.” Jaime ran his hand over his hair vigorously, spiking it up even more.
Emme’s heart dropped. Her mother would be pleased, but she had to leave Jaime. This was not okay with her, not by a long shot.
Noticing that Emme still wore his sweatshirt, Jaime flipped the hood up over her head. “Keep it. It’s cuter on you.”
Emme melted.
“Of course it’s cuter on her,” said Jayne, swatting Jaime with her sketchbook as she passed. “She’s a pretty girl.”
Laughing, Emme turned to Jaime. “Isn’t the air strike still going on, though?”
Jaime shrugged. “Well, our tour manager said that when there’s a need, there will be a service. Smaller airlines are taking advantage of the situation—I mean, who wouldn’t? It’s business.” He threw his hands up in the air and smiled blithely. “And then he got you a flight.”
Jayne closed her eyes, dark lashes against her pale cheeks, and sighed. “It’s bittersweet,” she remarked.
Oh, Emme knew it well. When was the next time she’d see Jaime—or Vic, or Mike and Tony? And what about the members of Sleeping with Sirens? Skype and all of those sort of things just weren’t the same. She wanted human contact—if she was to be with Jaime, she wanted to physically be with Jaime.
Jaime had a bizarre look on his face, half between despair and frustration. It unnerved Emme. “You leave tonight,” he said quietly, not reacting to her hand placed upon his arm.
“You have the day together,” spoke up Jayne hesitantly, ever the optimist.
Emme kept her eyes on Jaime’s red TOMS against the cool cream carpet. If she lifted them to his face, she knew she would start to cry. She didn’t want him to see that.
He worked the words around in his head, and then nodded definitively. “That’s right. Emme, we still have tonight, at least.”

Emme had the most amazing—well, amazingly melancholy—day before her flight. They hadn’t done anything nearly as special as their coffee shop adventure, but Emme figured that the knowledge of their impending situation made time all the sweeter. She and Jaime even snuggled on the walk from the hotel to the airport. It was perfect, and Emme could hardly put a stop to the wild plots multiplying in her head—plots that would bring them together again.
Jaime and Jesse helped the girls check in and turn in their bags. Then, it was time for goodbyes.
Jaime’s forehead was creased, and he wore the same peculiar expression he’d worn earlier in the day. He stared at a spot somewhere below Emme’s earlobe, and not into her face.
“We’ll see each other soon,” Emme told him solemnly. She reached out to pull his face to hers. She kissed him, quickly, on the mouth, and added, “we’ll talk as much as we can. And when this tour is over, we’ll see each other.” She smiled at him and leaned in for a real kiss.
“No, we won’t.” Jaime’s lips moved against hers.
Emme pulled back, cold. “Jaime—”
“Emme. We can’t do this. It won’t work.” He broke free from her embrace and positioned his body away from hers, shoving a hand into his jacket pocket. He gestured to her with the other. “I’m always touring, and besides—”
Tears sprang to Emme’s eyes. She shrank away from his hand. He was breaking up with her, wasn’t he? What had she done wrong? “Stop it. You’re wrong.” There was no anger in her voice; it was brittle, and laced with both disorientation and shock.
“I wish I was. But I know this can never work. Trust me. Let’s just end it now.” Jaime looked exasperated, and he gripped her by the shoulders, finally gazing into her eyes. “Emme, I cannot be with you.”
Emme slipped from between his hands, wiping futilely at her eyes. Her fingers came away inky black. “Fine. Fine, Jaime,” she said shakily, and then he turned away and didn’t look back.