A Million Reasons

I tugged his head closer to mine as our lips touched, my heart fluttering making me feel like a schoolgirl getting kissed for the first time. I pulled away, my breath ragged. I leaned my head on his as we both caught our breath.

He pulled his head away from mine and said "Macy, we've only known each other for a short period of time, but I have something to tell you."
"Okay."
"I think I'm in l-"

I felt my body shake until I opened up my eyes to see John standing above me.
"Good morning." I blushed slightly at the thought of my dream. "I better get you home before Jared kills me."
I nodded and stretched out before getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and quickly ran my fingers through my hair and rubbed my eyes and left to find an empty room.
I walked downstairs and found John sitting at the table with a coffee in hand. I walked over to the machine and poured myself some. I sat down beside him and couldn't stop thinking about what happened in my dream and how badly I wished it was real. I felt kind of silly for thinking such a thing about a person I didn't really know, but I couldn't exactly help myself.

Later, after we drove back to the house, we walked in to find a not-so-impressed looking Jared who after a long, and extremely detailed rule about how I had to tell him where I was at all times because I 'literally scared the living shit our of him' and that I 'could have been dead for all he knew.' finally gave up and told us the plans for the day.

"We're going to Garrett's, and then we're going to practice and then head out to a gig we have tonight."

"Okay, well I think that I'll just find a movie to watch and-"

"And nothing, you're coming with us." Jared cut me off.

"Why?" I groaned a little, not because I didn't like them or anything, but because I didn't particularly feel like being in a crowded bar, reeking of alcohol -that I couldn't drink-, the sweaty shoulders of other drunk adults rubbing up against me constantly or gross men that smelled all-too-much of the beer they just drank, getting way too close.

"Because I said so," He began walking away "And you need to have a little fun anyway." He finished, throwing a grin over his shoulder before disappearing behind a door. I shook my head and laughed a little before making my way upstairs to get ready for the long night ahead of me.

____________________________________________

We walked into the bar and made our way backstage before setting up for the show. They all sat down on a beat up couch, silently tuning guitars and doing whatever else came along with preparing for a concert. I just sat there for a while watching them all looking half-nervous, half-excited. It was fascinating.

When it was time for them to go on, I went out into the crowd and sat at the bar, waiting for them to come on stage.

First John came out, then Garrett and the rest followed suit, going to their respective spots on stage.

"So how are we doing tonight?" John yelled enthusiastically into the microphone shortly followed by a variety of whistles, shouts of excitement and other drunken noises. He smiled before the boys started on a song and when John started singing, you could tell he truly loved what he did. I sat and stared at him, making observations of cute things he did as he sang. After the show the guys drank way too much, leaving me to drive them home.

We (I) walked to the car (while they stumbled and tripped). We all packed in Garrett's car, (with Pat excitedly sitting in the trunk.) and took the short drive back to Jared's house. Most of the guys passed out wherever the first place they saw was.

I noticed John was missing though, and went to check the kitchen, but he wasn't there. Then I heard a cough from the back porch and went out to find a distant-looking John sitting on the swing, a lit cigarette hanging loosely out of his mouth. I sat down beside him, unsure if I should say anything or just enjoy the captivating view of the giant moon, shining across the sky, almost illuminating it as if it were day time already, which it very well could be.

We sat in a comfortable, almost calming silence before John's, low raspy voice spoke two simple words.

"I'm tired."

So I started to respond, "You can go inside and sl-"

"No, I'm drained. Emotionally."

I turned my head to him, "What?" I definitely wasn't expecting that.

"I'm trying so hard to be a good boyfriend, I really am. But I just can't be there all the time, like when I tour I feel really guilty, like I need to be there with her, not away, leaving her alone, she deserves so much better, and I can't give her what she needs, but I can't let her go, I don't know what to do."

He was obviously more sober than I thought. He looked over at me, with big pleading eyes, as if waiting for me to give him an answer, and even though it hurt me a little bit to talk about John's love life, he was my friend, and I needed to be there for him.

"You can only do and be so much, John, you can't be perfect, you can only be you, and obviously you are trying so hard to be there, and that might even mean more to a girl then actually being there. You deserve whatever you desire, John, because you are an amazing person, whether you believe it sometimes or not." He stared at me so bewildered, yet enlightened. "And do you love her?" I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear this answer, but not only did I want to know, he needed to hear it.

Without even a seconds hesitation he says, "Yes." like it was the only thing he was sure about, like it was the only constant in his life and while it comforted him, it made me a little upset, which I quickly tried to hide.

He turned back, facing the moonlight, which was slowing moving away, as it was god-knows what time of the morning. I looked at him, and I could tell that he looked considerably less sorrowful, and more peaceful. I released a breath I didn't know I was holding before looking back at the disappearing moonlight as well.

After a while, I yawned and decided that it was time to go to bed. I slowly stood up, unsure of what, or if anything, to say. I turned and decided on nothing until John quickly grabbed my hand and looked up at me with the most gratitude-filled eyes I've ever witnessed.

He said only two words, and in some cases, the two words might be said quickly, or almost impetuously, without too much meaning behind them, something you say at a store, when you're checking out or when a kind stranger holds the door open for you, but when he said them it was as if I had lifted the largest weight from his wide, yet frail shoulders, as if I tore the grief that has been occupying his brain for far too long now, away and tossed it into the deep, deep ocean, where it would never be found, at least not the same grief, for a long time. And he knew that. He said them with so much sincerity I almost felt like crying.

"Thank you."