Sequel: If Only Until Morning

Pictures on Silence

Chapter 26

~Ryan~

Angie, Spencer, and I had lost Rock, Paper, Scissors again and were squished in the back of Brendon's car, which we had to go pick up. I watched all the familiar scenery go by out the window, half-listening to the guys pointing out local landmarks and occasionally contributing. Angie seemed politely interested by all of this; she gazed out the window and nodded at whatever Brendon and Spencer said.

After a few hours of showing her around our hometown, the five of us stopped by Port of Subs-- one of my personal favourite sandwich places-- and ate dinner. Angie snickered into her drink at Brendon's and my ecstatic noises during chewing. "I missed this place," I declared around a mouthful.

"And I half-expected to have to avoid insane fans and stalkerazzi," Angie commented dryly, glancing around at the completely empty sub shop.

"We're not the fucking Stones, Angie," Jon laughed.

Spencer and I were looking through her wallet as we rode in the back seat. "Hey, your first name's not Angela," Spence observed, looking at her driver's license. I leaned over. Rhiannon, I read to myself. That's really pretty. "Ry-an-on."

Angie rolled her eyes and took back her wallet. "Ree-an-non. Ar-hach-eye-ay-en-en-oh-en. It's Gaelic."

"It's really cool-sounding," Brendon said from the front.

She shrugged off the compliment and gazed out the window. "I'm just Angie," she reminded quietly.

"Hey," I said, nudging her. "You and I have something else in common." She smiled. I watched her play with her fingers for a few minutes; Angie's mouth kept twitching up into a small, secret smile, like she was thinking of something amusing which no one else would get. It made me want to ask, but I didn't out of introversion. Maybe we have a lot more in common than I thought.

"Where are we going again?" Angie asked me back at the hotel. We had returned to get our shit together and put it back on the bus. She was folding all the clothes I'd thrown haphazardly into my suitcase and I was sitting on the vanity, putting on eyeliner.

"Some club," I replied absentmindedly. "Dancing, loud music, you know. The usual club shit since were here."

She zipped up my suitcase and looked down at herself. "Maybe I should put on pants," she mused. Biting her lip a moment, Angie unzipped and shimmied out of her skirt; averting my eyes, I continued fixing my eyeliner. Ignore the Amazon in her underwear. She sat on the bed, took off her boots, and pulled off her stockings. After looking around for a minute or two, she poked her head out the door and yelled, "Did one of you weirdoes steal my pants?"

I chuckled, hearing the guys laugh too. Angie smiled simply. "You never know."

We strolled down the sidewalk through and past people, talking and joking. As the line to the door loomed into sight below the bright neon sign, Angie voiced a qualm. "I'm the only one underage."

"Yeah, but you don't look it," Brendon assured. "But stick next to me just in case." He put his arm around her shoulder, and after a noticeable dithering Angie put hers around his waist. I stared at her hand, resting stiffly on Brendon's hip, until we neared the door; it made me think of something, but I couldn't remember what.

The bouncer took one look at us-- all dressed in, I guess, the height of scene fashion (except for maybe Angie and Jon)-- and asked, "You all eighteen?" The five of us nodded, including Angie who threw in a smile. "You on the list?" Jon pointed to a line. The bouncer moved aside and we entered the club.

Music pulsed loudly against the walls and heat from the dance floor rose to the high ceiling. "We have a table up in the VIP section," Jon said over the din. "Let's go hang for a while."

We grabbed a table and soon a waiter asked us what we wanted to drinks. I don't remember what Brendon or Spencer or I ordered, but I know that Jon ordered a Black Russian and Angie asked very politely, "Can I a Singapore Sling?" The guy nodded and jotted it down. "Oh, and can we have five shots of Finlandia for the table, please?" Once again he nodded, wrote it down, and went away, leaving the rest of us to look at her. She gave us all a weird look. "What? A girl can't propose a toast?"

"I didn't know you drank enough to have a specific brand," Spencer commented across the table. Angie laughed and shook her head. I frowned mildly, disliking the idea of drinking tonight.

Eventually our drinks came-- Angie's a colourful one with a cherry and pineapple slice-- and we doled them out, each person with a shot of clear liquid. Angie picked up her shot glass and announced, "To old friends who have come and gone, that we may join them soon, and to new friends made, that we may not lose them like marbles." I downed my shot quickly with everyone else, the fiery taste burning the back of my throat.

We sat around the table for a while, sipping our drinks and generally having a good time as usual. Angie and Jon finished their drinks first, though she threw the pineapple at Spencer to see if he could catch it in his mouth. Somehow along the way, a drinking contest was proposed. I declined, along with Brendon and Spencer.

"Maybe that's not such a great idea," Brendon said loudly over the music.

"Yeah, I'll drink you halfway to China," Jon said, laughing.

Angie rolled her eyes. "Oh, stuff it, Mister I-have-an-abnormally-large-liver. Just get the fucking liquor."

I watched apprehensively as Angie knocked back what was probably past her twelfth shot. "We won't hold it against you if you quit," Spencer told her, with the same look of unease that I'm sure I wore.

Angie smirked at him. "I'm fine, thank you," she said, sounding completely sober. I watched her hand reach for another shot, feeling sick to my stomach.

Another ten minutes passed, covering the table in shot glasses. After several attempted intercessions from Bren, Spence, and I, Jon finally spoke up. "I don't want you to hurt yourself there, Ange," he said, moving the bottle out of her reach.

"I told yeh," she insisted. "I'm bloody fine."

"Yeah?" I said. "When did you get an Irish accent?" She grinned at me; she still looked pretty normal, eyes only a little glassy.

"I think we've both had enough," Jon decided, putting a hand to his head. "The room's starting to get all fuzzy."

A new song came on. "I'm going t'go dance," Angie called, turning sideways in her seat. She wavered a step on the landing, but caught herself on the seat. She grinned. "I'm perfectly fine."

Angie started off down the stairs towards the dance floor and Brendon slid out of the booth. "I'm going to make sure she's okay," he notified.

"Hey, it's a club," I called, standing up and stretching my legs. "Let's go enjoy ourselves."

The dance floor was packed tighter than the floor at our last show, and probably about as hot. I danced with a few random girls and lost track of time. Eventually, Brendon emerged out of the crowd and told me he'd lost Angie almost an hour ago. I immediately started searching; I knew what a person full of that much liquor could do.

I squeezed my way through the close, sweaty people, looking over heads for a flash of red hair. Finally, I did a double take and saw her dancing close to a tall guy with a tight shirt and blonde hair. I made my way over. In reality, Angie was having a great time dancing as if alone, and the guy was pressed up behind her, holding her by the hips.

"I've been looking for you everywhere," I yelled to her, who smiled widely upon seeing me. "Brendon said he lost you."

"I found Spencerface and Jon-Jon," she told me cheerfully, still moving almost completely free of her partner, who seemed annoyed that I interrupted. "We danced, but I dunno where they went." Angie wavered and I caught her elbow.

"Bug off," the guy yelled. I scoffed and held Angie up straight again as her knees gave out. "Hey, man, we're not finished!"

"Like hell you aren't," I yelled back, pulling Angie away. "She's with me, so keep your fucking hands off her!"

The guy backed off, holding his hands up. "Hey, she came up to me. Keep better control of your girlfriend next time!"

As we moved away, Angie stopped and shouted over the music, "Dance with me, Ryan!" I tried to pull her along, but she planted her feet and set a stubborn guise to her eyes. "Jus' one song," she begged, moving closer as the song changed.

I looked around and up: no sign of the guys. Angie smiled hopefully up at me and I caved, taking her right hand. Smiling, she leaned her head on my shoulder and moved fluidly in my arms. After a minute or two, I completely forgot about... well, everything.

The song ended, but Angie didn't move away. She murmured something indistinguishable: a deep throaty noise I felt more than heard. I pulled her arm around my neck and walked Angie up the stairs back to the table, where Spencer and Jon sat waiting. Brendon was outside, they said. Just in case Angie thought we left.

With my ears ringing, I walked up the street with the four of them. Angie, Spencer, and Brendon were laughing about something; Angie hung off Bren's shoulder, smiling at him every few steps.

"She's really drunk," Jon said sideways to me. I nodded, acknowledging. "But you can hardly tell. It's amazing that any normal person could drink as much as me and still be able to walk straight."

We drove back to Brendon's house to leave the car, but decided since the oldest and youngest of us were mostly incapacitated that we'd stay. Taking off our shoes, we crept into the house as the clock in the dining room struck three. I pressed a finger to my lips at Angie, who'd started giggling; with a smile, she imitated me and followed us down to the basement.

Spencer yawned, lying out on his stomach on the floor. I sat on the couch next to Jon as Brendon pulled a DVD out of its case. He sat on the floor next to Angie, who dropped her head onto his shoulder when the opening credits finished. I leaned on the arm of the couch and started to nod off after the first appearance of Kiera Knightley. As much as I wanted to stay awake, my heavy eyelids won the battle with my will. And I don't mean Turner.