Roadie

The next morning started off like any other. The boys were dragging ass around the bus, trying to find ways to wake themselves up after the night they just had. Mike was having the hardest time, that was evident. He lay upside down, hanging off of the couch he had been sleeping on, claiming he would crawl to where ever he needed to be. That is, if he could ever get out of that position.

"Shouldn't we be helping him?" I questioned, grabbing a Vitamin Water from the fridge, glancing around at the others.

They laughed, "No. He does this all the time. Eventually, he'll just fall to the floor and then crawl to the table. He can lift himself up from there." Tony answered as he fired up the stove.

The thought of Tony cooking honestly frightened me. Just by his physical appearance, he didn't look like much of a cook to me. I could be mistaken, but I doubted that. Just then, a loud thud echoed through the bus, causing me to jump. Mike had finally fallen, but he was laid out on his back instead of his stomach like he had planned. As much as I, and the others, would love a good show this morning, I knew he needed a helping hand.

"Come on, Mike. Your never going to get up on your own and I know damn well the others aren't going to help you." I offered my hand to him, which he gladly accepted, and pulled him up with a hell of a lot of effort.

"Thanks." He stated and stumbled over to get a cup of coffee.

I rolled my eyes, this is why you shouldn't drink so much. Two words of advice: Hangovers Suck. I hope that's enough to get the point across. Some people never learn.

"Holy shit!" Tony screamed, jumping back away from the stove, which had just spewed a huge flame from one of the burners.

"Tony! What the hell are you doing?" I ran over to him, shoving him out of the way, and turning down the burner. The flame subsided, "Never again, Tony. You are never cooking ever again."

"Do you have to yell?" Mike whined from the table, covering his ears with his palms and resting his head against the table.

The others found our little display highly amusing. I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Boys most definitely do not belong in the kitchen.

⚓ ⚓ ⚓ ⚓ ⚓

Most days went on just the same. We would all wake up, drag ass around the bus as it drove us to the next venue. When we arrived there, we'd do just as we had done. Although, help didn't always arrive for me. Some days I worked solo, which was perfectly fine, but in the hot summer heat, it sure did me in. Most nights, there was a party. Whether it was the entire tour partying together or it was just the occupants of our bus. It went just like that, for the next six days of tour.

Vic still hadn't mentioned our little talk, nor had he added on to the conversation. His mood had lightened, but it was obvious that the fear was still there. He was wasted every night, whether there was a party or not, but no one really noticed or maybe they just didn't care. I, for one, did notice and I did care. It wasn't any of my business what was going on with him. His life was solely his concern, but I couldn't help to wonder. I wanted to help. Wanted to reach out and tell him that it would all be okay, but would it? I didn't know if that were true. False hope is a bitch.

On the sixth night of the tour, there was a party. The occasion? Why the fuck not, that's why. Those words said by none other than, Mike Fuentes. Would you expect any less? I didn't plan on drinking tonight. If I kept up like this, my liver would deteriorate by the end of summer. I could take a break tonight. Instead, I found myself in the back lounge, strumming along on Vic's acoustic, which I wasn't even sure I was allowed to touch. I had been an avid player for ten years now, it was something I had picked up at our beach house during a family vacation. Singing, on the other hand, was something I had a sure talent in. Apparently, I have always been a singer. There are videos and stories of me singing as soon as I could talk. I guess were all born with a talent. Strangely, I decided to play a Pierce The Veil song. I knew a select few, including I'm Low On Gas And You Need A Jacket, in which I was playing now. When I play, I find myself lost in the music. Myself and the guitar become one. My voice intertwining with the sound.

"You're really good." The sudden interruption scared me, causing me to jump and drop the pick.

The voice belonged to Vic. Who had apparently ditched the party just as I had, "Is that my guitar?" Oh shit. It was. He's going to yell. My thoughts raced with every bad thing he could possibly say to me right now.

"I'm so sorry. I don't have mine and I just-" He cut me off by laying a hand gently on my arm, as if he were reassuring me.

"Sutton, it's fine. It's not like you were doing anything wrong with it, then I'd have to kick your ass," he laughed, "I find it ironic that your playing my song, though."

I must have turned fifty shades of red right then. I looked down at my hands, avoiding his gaze. I was embarrassed, to say the least.

"Yeah, well, it's a good song, you know?" Of course he knows you idiot, it's his damn song.

"Play for me." And that's all I needed for me to pick up the pick again and start strumming. The look in his eyes, that pleading look, sent my emotions soaring. This time, I did my rendition of One Hundred Sleepless Nights. Vic sat contently next to me, watching my fingers dance along the fret board and the pick glide over the strings. He said nothing, just sat in perfect silence and listened to me. His face showed no expression, nor did his eyes. He just watched and I was okay with that. I didn't expect much from him. I was probably butchering this song. After all, he plays it perfectly. I probably sound terrible. Once I was finished, I looked to him for any sign of emotion.

He smiled, "You are amazing." And my heart soared.