Lost Kitten
Start
My eyes grew wide as I looked up at the tour bus that sat right out along the curb. I couldn't help but to feel as if everything was finally snapping right into place. My blades were gone and my depression was clearing up, my parents were trying to get back into my life after kicking me out for being insane, and now, I had something to be proud of. There was no more traveling in a small band with no one but guys. Now, I would be able to stretch my legs while I roamed all along the U.S., doing my thing with my band mates.
I grinned but that disappeared when Pete, the tour manager, walked past and almost knocked me out of the way. I was about to say sorry, but he looked back and barked complaints, so my mouth snapped shut. I wasn't one-hundred-percent sure why I was still in the band; the singer, Yves, was the only one who really liked me. He was the one who came to me because his band needed a drummer; I played, everyone liked it, so I stayed. Along the way Yves had pitched my blades and such, setting me on a better path. I was thankful for him, but sometimes I felt like I didn't belong there.
“Kenadee,” Cable, the guitarist, yelled out of the tour-bus window. “C'mon! Claim a bunk!” He gave me a smile and a thumbs up, so I set down my bags and walked inside. It was great. It smelt clean and it was tidy for now. I knew the boys would have it messed up as soon as we hit the road, but that was just the life of touring. The messes would've been nicer now, since we had all this room.
“The bunks are big,” Cable told me. “The one under Yves' is free. He's the top one on the left, but just be careful cos the floor bunks are already taken.”
“Floor bunks?”
“There's four bunks in one chunk, so to save room there's these floor bunks. So Pete has the bunk under you, the first bunk, and Jasper gets the one under him, the floor bunk.” He handed me a bottle of Mountain Dew, winked, and walked off. That was it, really. Cable found it awkward to be alone with me, but he didn't think badly of me. I kind of thought that Anthony, the bassist of the band, sort of had an unspoken hate for me. He only let me in because he needed a drummer and I was good, but that didn't make us friends or even acquaintances.
I took the third bunk up, putting my stuffed animals and such in it before closing the curtain and running out to catch up with everyone. I went to open the door, but it was pulled open before I could grab the handle. Anthony stood there, and once he saw me, he rolled his eyes. “Move,” he muttered. I did as he said and moved so he could walk through. Once he was out of the way, I hopped out and searched for Yves.
I found him talking to a few people in our crew, Gavin, Leon and Tyler. He was telling them something and I couldn't quite hear it because he wasn't talking super loud. I walked up to him and he stopped talking. He turned and frowned at me. “You can't listen to this.”
I returned the frown. “Why not?”
“I'm talking about the bands we're touring with.”
I groaned. Every since the guys found out who we'd be touring with they decided to keep it a secret from me. I asked why, and all they could say was that they wanted it to be a surprise. I hated waiting and surprises, though, so I didn't like this one bit. “I wanna know who we're touring with.”
“You'll find out tomorrow,” he said. “Now come on, lets get settled in the bus so we can finally leave.”
We all listened to Yves and we climbed into the tour bus. Pete, Gavin, and Leon were discussing the tour dates and managing our time to benefit us, Tyler was stocking the fridge, Yves and Cable were yelling about the set list plans, and Anthony was sitting at the table, writing. I didn't know what he was writing; he usually sat alone when he was writing lyrics and he looked too tense. He was still when he was writing lyrics. I wanted to get a closer look but there was no way that I could've without him snapping at me.
He turned and sighed, but caught m staring. His brown eyes were gentle at first, but then they grew hard and mean and turned away. I retreated back to my bunk and grabbed the journal I kept in the underside of my pillow case.
>>>
Everything went in that journal. I often had blackouts because I would get too overwhelmed with fear and panic, and I wanted to know what I did last. At least four times a day, I wrote everything in my notebook. I used to do it at every meal and just scribble down whenever I ate. The bad thing was that my eating schedule was so out of whack that I couldn't do that. Some days I would eat regularly, and then some I wouldn't eat until right before bed. Others, I would eat nothing but gummy bears the whole day. So I just wrote whenever I could, and that seemed to be a lot.
Most of the stuff I scribbled down were descriptions. To be at peace with my journal entries, I had to make sure I described my mood, how everyone looked, how the mood of my surroundings seemed and what songs I was listening to. It seemed fairly small and simple, but it meant the world to me.
The other things I jotted down were cries for a better place. I just wanted to be where people liked me, where no one bumped into me and hated me for their mistake and where I fully belonged. I rambled on how people treated me, and it made me feel so small. All of it was basically my own fault. It was my behavior and personality that got me in that kind of trouble.
I finished my scribbles in my notebook and closed it with a sigh, tucking it away in a safe place.
>>>
I spent most of my time in the bunk and that's pretty sad to say seeing as how it's barely been a day on here. Anthony hates me, Yves has no time for me, Cable is too awkward to hold more than a two-minute conversation and the crew and managers just brushed me off as if I was nothing. That kind of hurt me to a certain degree, because I was a part of this band just like they were. I was the drummer, and without me, they wouldn't have gotten so far. They would still be in the basement without me, and our first album wouldn't even exist.
I rolled over and let out a soft sigh. I had nothing to do to really occupy my loneliness. The guys were playing video games and I was in here because there was no place for me to fit in to. Maybe I could've slept... no, no, I just took a name....
Maybe I could've snuck out to get a Pop-tart since I love those... no, no I would just make a crumbly mess....
Maybe I could've been a cooler person so more people liked me. That seemed like a great idea.
But who was I kidding? I couldn't be cool. I could only be me, some girl who failed at basically everything, even destroying herself. Okay, I take that back. I was great at hacking myself open and going numb. But I failed all my suicide attempts so I guess that made me look even worse. I closed my eyes and tried to make all the bad thoughts go away, but it didn't work. I snapped my spare elastic on my wrist over and over, feeling the sting, wincing every time I did so. Sometimes, I missed my blades.
But that was the old Kenadee, and old Kenadee was one step farther from being normal.
I grinned but that disappeared when Pete, the tour manager, walked past and almost knocked me out of the way. I was about to say sorry, but he looked back and barked complaints, so my mouth snapped shut. I wasn't one-hundred-percent sure why I was still in the band; the singer, Yves, was the only one who really liked me. He was the one who came to me because his band needed a drummer; I played, everyone liked it, so I stayed. Along the way Yves had pitched my blades and such, setting me on a better path. I was thankful for him, but sometimes I felt like I didn't belong there.
“Kenadee,” Cable, the guitarist, yelled out of the tour-bus window. “C'mon! Claim a bunk!” He gave me a smile and a thumbs up, so I set down my bags and walked inside. It was great. It smelt clean and it was tidy for now. I knew the boys would have it messed up as soon as we hit the road, but that was just the life of touring. The messes would've been nicer now, since we had all this room.
“The bunks are big,” Cable told me. “The one under Yves' is free. He's the top one on the left, but just be careful cos the floor bunks are already taken.”
“Floor bunks?”
“There's four bunks in one chunk, so to save room there's these floor bunks. So Pete has the bunk under you, the first bunk, and Jasper gets the one under him, the floor bunk.” He handed me a bottle of Mountain Dew, winked, and walked off. That was it, really. Cable found it awkward to be alone with me, but he didn't think badly of me. I kind of thought that Anthony, the bassist of the band, sort of had an unspoken hate for me. He only let me in because he needed a drummer and I was good, but that didn't make us friends or even acquaintances.
I took the third bunk up, putting my stuffed animals and such in it before closing the curtain and running out to catch up with everyone. I went to open the door, but it was pulled open before I could grab the handle. Anthony stood there, and once he saw me, he rolled his eyes. “Move,” he muttered. I did as he said and moved so he could walk through. Once he was out of the way, I hopped out and searched for Yves.
I found him talking to a few people in our crew, Gavin, Leon and Tyler. He was telling them something and I couldn't quite hear it because he wasn't talking super loud. I walked up to him and he stopped talking. He turned and frowned at me. “You can't listen to this.”
I returned the frown. “Why not?”
“I'm talking about the bands we're touring with.”
I groaned. Every since the guys found out who we'd be touring with they decided to keep it a secret from me. I asked why, and all they could say was that they wanted it to be a surprise. I hated waiting and surprises, though, so I didn't like this one bit. “I wanna know who we're touring with.”
“You'll find out tomorrow,” he said. “Now come on, lets get settled in the bus so we can finally leave.”
We all listened to Yves and we climbed into the tour bus. Pete, Gavin, and Leon were discussing the tour dates and managing our time to benefit us, Tyler was stocking the fridge, Yves and Cable were yelling about the set list plans, and Anthony was sitting at the table, writing. I didn't know what he was writing; he usually sat alone when he was writing lyrics and he looked too tense. He was still when he was writing lyrics. I wanted to get a closer look but there was no way that I could've without him snapping at me.
He turned and sighed, but caught m staring. His brown eyes were gentle at first, but then they grew hard and mean and turned away. I retreated back to my bunk and grabbed the journal I kept in the underside of my pillow case.
>>>
Everything went in that journal. I often had blackouts because I would get too overwhelmed with fear and panic, and I wanted to know what I did last. At least four times a day, I wrote everything in my notebook. I used to do it at every meal and just scribble down whenever I ate. The bad thing was that my eating schedule was so out of whack that I couldn't do that. Some days I would eat regularly, and then some I wouldn't eat until right before bed. Others, I would eat nothing but gummy bears the whole day. So I just wrote whenever I could, and that seemed to be a lot.
Most of the stuff I scribbled down were descriptions. To be at peace with my journal entries, I had to make sure I described my mood, how everyone looked, how the mood of my surroundings seemed and what songs I was listening to. It seemed fairly small and simple, but it meant the world to me.
The other things I jotted down were cries for a better place. I just wanted to be where people liked me, where no one bumped into me and hated me for their mistake and where I fully belonged. I rambled on how people treated me, and it made me feel so small. All of it was basically my own fault. It was my behavior and personality that got me in that kind of trouble.
I finished my scribbles in my notebook and closed it with a sigh, tucking it away in a safe place.
>>>
I spent most of my time in the bunk and that's pretty sad to say seeing as how it's barely been a day on here. Anthony hates me, Yves has no time for me, Cable is too awkward to hold more than a two-minute conversation and the crew and managers just brushed me off as if I was nothing. That kind of hurt me to a certain degree, because I was a part of this band just like they were. I was the drummer, and without me, they wouldn't have gotten so far. They would still be in the basement without me, and our first album wouldn't even exist.
I rolled over and let out a soft sigh. I had nothing to do to really occupy my loneliness. The guys were playing video games and I was in here because there was no place for me to fit in to. Maybe I could've slept... no, no, I just took a name....
Maybe I could've snuck out to get a Pop-tart since I love those... no, no I would just make a crumbly mess....
Maybe I could've been a cooler person so more people liked me. That seemed like a great idea.
But who was I kidding? I couldn't be cool. I could only be me, some girl who failed at basically everything, even destroying herself. Okay, I take that back. I was great at hacking myself open and going numb. But I failed all my suicide attempts so I guess that made me look even worse. I closed my eyes and tried to make all the bad thoughts go away, but it didn't work. I snapped my spare elastic on my wrist over and over, feeling the sting, wincing every time I did so. Sometimes, I missed my blades.
But that was the old Kenadee, and old Kenadee was one step farther from being normal.