‹ Prequel: Pictures on Silence

If Only Until Morning

Chapter 12

I woke up slowly, switching from deep slumber to recognition of dreaming to semi-consciousness to opening my eyes. For a while I just lay there, curling and uncurling my toes, feeling the sheets on my skin and the pressure of Ryan's arms around me, thinking. I felt... not exactly regretful of the night before, but certainly not very self-confident. Not exactly cheap... but empty.

Shaking my head I slid out of bed. After half a step, a hand caught mine and pulled me back onto the bed. Ryan crawled half on top of me and tucked his head under my chin. "You're warm," he murmured.

I scoffed lightly, causing him to look up. "Good morning," I said ironically.

He smiled. "Morning, Rhi." With that he leaned his head up and caught my lower lip between his teeth. I laughed slightly, and he pouted. "I'm making an attempt here. Don't laugh at me."

"It doesn't help that you already have sex hair and neither of us has brushed our teeth," I pointed out, playing with his hair.

Ryan shrugged. "Does it really matter?" he asked, attaching his lips my neck.

"Oh..." I slid out from under him. "Yes, it does." With a laugh, I traipsed to the bathroom. I turned on the shower, not bothering to close the door, and waited for the water to warm up. Glancing back into the room, I saw Ryan watching me and stepped a little more behind the door before stripping down.

Modesty? Pretty usual for me, except not with him. I would wear long sleeves, jeans, and a scarf if I was going out, but once Ryan and I were alone somewhere, the whole concept of reserved shyness went right out the window.

So what the hell was this shit?

I flipped my hair out of my face, combing it back with my fingers, and tilted my head at my reflection. In the shower I'd been thinking, quite rationally I might add, about this whole Alison business, and just then it came back to mind.

Hands on my hips, I turned sideways and studied my shape. "Ryan?" I called. I pressed the beater to my abdomen, losing a good three inches width-wise.

"Yeah?" came the reply from the bed.

"Would you still find me attractive if I were stick thin?"

"Yeah," Ryan said after a moment. "Why?"

I took my wet hair in my hands and folded it up so the ends framed my face. "Would you still love me if I cut all my hair off?"

"Yes, Ange, I would--"

I shoved my boobs up so the top curve of them showed heavily in the shirt neckline. "Would you still love me if I dyed my hair blonde, became bulimic, and got a boob job?"

This time silence met my question and when I looked up, Ryan was standing in the doorway, a puzzled look on his face. "Why do you ask?"

"Would you?" I reiterated seriously.

He padded over, coming up behind me, and pulled my hands away to link our together around my waist. "Rhi, if you dyed your hair blonde, I'd question your sanity as you said yourself no one not-blonde should become one." He planted a kiss on my shoulder. "If you become bulimic, I'd check you into a hospital so you'd get healthy and realise you're drop dead gorgeous the way you are." Another kiss, higher on my neck. "And if you got a boob job, your back would probably break."

I scoffed in laughter as Ryan leaned his head against mine, looking at me in the mirror. "Why do you ask?"

I shrugged, slipping out of his reach and heading for some clean clothes. "No reason."

Ryan was standing in front of me with his arms crossed when I pulled my head through my "Save A Drum, Bang A Drummer" shirt; I'd laughed so hard I couldn't breathe when I saw it, so I bought three: one for me, one for Matt, and one for Spencer, who both found it equally hilarious. "You don't ask questions like that for no reason," Ryan stated. "You don't ask questions period without reason."

Again I shrugged a shoulder and wriggled into my jeans. "Just wondering," I said easily, securing my belt. Still looking dubious, Ryan raised an eyebrow. I cocked a grin at him. "What, I don't wonder either?"

He chuckled, going to get clothes himself. "Oh, I know you do." I smiled at his back, but frowned after a moment and crossed into the living room area. Distract-and-evade was getting to be far too easy a method of socialisation.

After we got to the venue, I didn't see Ryan for the rest of the day, seeing as I got caught up in setting up the merch booth and taking inventory. Which Alison should have been doing, except that she spent the entire day gallivanting off with various band boys. Annoying? You know it.

But luckily for me, I had Shawn to keep me company. He entertained me, and even helped a bit, while I took stock of all our... stock. And how does a twenty-five-year-old musician entertain a seventeen year-old one, you ask? They sing together, of course.

Both of us were almost falling over laughing in an impromptu break of our new version of Dave Matthews' "The Space Between." I'll give you a hint: we came up with a rhyme for aphrodisiac that involves feet.

With a happy sigh, I tossed the clipboard onto a box and stretched in my chair. "My ass is asleep," I observed, shifting in my chair.

Shawn snickered, strumming my acoustic, and removed his feet from the table. "I could smack it and wake it up for you," he suggested lightly.

I laughed, standing up and edging around the table. "That'd go over well." He joined me and we walked towards the stages, singing, playing, and dancing as we went. "You know," I said, as we neared the din of our fellows, "We should work on something together. It'd be fun."

"I agree, or is this just an attempt to steal away my fans?" He made a comically suspicious face and cracked a grin when I laughed.

"Shawn, I am one of your fans," I reminded him, "So yes, I'm stealing myself."

Shawn swung my guitar onto his back and attempted to ruffle my hair, but I caught his hand and ducked out of the way, trying to retaliate. It pretty much escalated from there, with each of us trying to screw up the other's *cough* perfect hair. But we're tricky people with a lot of inside jokes, so to the casual observer it looked like... well, I don't know what the casual observer thought, but I can tell you what Ryan thought.

"Angie!"

Oh. Shit. Playtime's over. Angry boyfriend detail.

I smiled casually as he approached. "Hey, Ry," I greeted, still catching my breath from laughing so hard.

"A moment of your time," he requested tensely, eyes darting to my companion.

I nodded, and turned to Shawn. "I'll catch you later. Just don't murder my guitar." He saluted me and wandered off, playing something that sounded suspiciously like "Destroy Me With a Whisper," a catchy tune Jesse and I had beat out one day of screwing around. I returned my attention to Ryan. "Yes?"

He glanced off towards the group of others eating, drinking, and making merry, and pulled me away towards the busses. "Where have you been all day?" hedemanded inquired in a low tone.

"Doing inventory," I replied suspiciously as we walked. "Why?"

"With Shawn?"

I frowned, pulling my arm out of his grip and stopping between two empty busses. "Maybe. What's it to you?"

Ryan stared me down for a good minute before speaking. "You spend a lot of time with him," he observed coldly.

I crossed my arms. "You spend a lot of time with Alison," I shot back.

"This isn't about her."
"I'm making this about her."

"So that means I can't make this about Shawn?" he asked angrily.

You know, in retrospect I should have taken the hint: Ryan never sounds angry. But I was just as ticked off, so common sense goes out the window.

"It was about Shawn to begin with," I reminded sharply. "Which still makes no sense to me. What's your problem with him?" Ryan stared at me pointedly, and when I realised about what he was talking, I laughed. "The man is twenty-five, Ryan!"

"And I'm almost twenty-one!" he exclaimed. "There's not much of a difference."

"You are so insecure!" I cried, rolling my eyes at the sky.

Ryan scoffed. "You're calling me insecure?" he said incredulously.

"Yes!" I fired back hotly. "Because I'm not insecure. I'm logical. You are completely paranoid!"

"I have right to be! My girlfriend is running around a male-dominated tour with no one watching her, except for a guy who probably wants into her pants!"

"Don't you dare talk to me about wanting into someone's pants, George Ryan Ross! You're running around with the biggest slut I have ever had the misfortune to meet!"

"Don't call her a slut, Rhiannon Angela Callaghan! You don't know anything about her!"

This was about the time that we just started yelling over each other, not even bothering to wait or listen. It's kind of funny. Neither of us was what you'd call outgoing, but here we were shouting at each other at the top of our lungs. And considering we both could sing... well, I'm surprised nobody came thinking someone was being killed.

"Well, maybe she's better company than you are!" Ryan shouted.

I rocked back on my heels, staring open-mouthed at him. He seemed confused for a moment as to why I'd stilled the avalanche of verbal assault. Then in that long moment, his eyes widened. I glared at him scathingly. "Well, if that's the way you feel," I whispered icily, edging away.

As I stalked out from between the busses, in no particular direction, I didn't hear him make a move or sound, and that only pushed the lump in my throat up farther, bringing tears to my eyes. I'm not going to lie: I wanted to kill him. And her. But her first, because he said that.

Trying to swallow down quivering sobs that threatened to escape, I wandered aimlessly with my eyes fixed on the ground, thinking of vicious ways to punish Alison for poisoning Ryan's mind and Ryan for allowing himself to be poisoned. In fact I was so intent on my idle plotting that I run headfirst into something.

Er. Someone.

"Whoa, watch where you're-- hey, Ange, what's up?"

I quickly blinked and rubbed my eyes to see Rian Dawson staring at me curiously. "Hi, Rian," I said weakly, attempting a smile.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I nodded. "I'll be fine." He looked skeptical, so I tried to bolster up my smile. "I promise."

An arm appeared around my shoulder. "I'm no rocket scientist," Alex said casually, "But something tells me that you're lying through your teeth."

I shrugged. What could I say, he caught me. "You're right. I can't promise I'll be okay." Feeling a classic me moment coming on, I smile vaguely. "~I'm not o-kaaaay...~"

Alex tilted his head at me. "Your voice is pretty nice," he stated, like a fact. "Maybe I can write something and fit you in on our next album."

I rolled my eyes and removed his arm. "At the moment, I'll have to pass you up on that offer. I have a date with a lyrics notebook and a pint of ice cream." With that I sauntered off as casually as possible.

"I'm not kidding, you know!" Alex called after me. I waved a hand without turning around.

I always wanted a guy to write a song with me in mind. I'd just assumed it would be someone in love with me.

...Let's not think about the possibility of that.