If Only Until Morning

Before we started going on tour, I absolutely hated hotels. Something about them always creeped me out a little, knowing that hundreds, if not thousands, of people had slept in the same place that I did and lived for a short time in the little room that I was.

Tour changed that. Tour made me love hotels. Mainly because I could avoid certain people and have more than a little privacy. And other people could shower.

But when we finally stopped in another hotel, I was having a less than wonderful day. Ali knocked a chair into me and I had a bruise the size of my fist on my ribs. Ryan was pretending I didn't exist, even when our bands were hanging out together; he was too busy fanning the flame of Merch Slut's affection. And to top it all off, I realised that I'd missed Ryan's and my six-month anniversary-type-thing by several days. We'd spent the day on the bus. A full twenty-four hours.

So I was less than amicable as we dragged our bags into the elevator. My head throbbed as I tried to ignore Alison bitching about her hair dryer, which had blown a fuse in the bus. Even Matt seemed a bit ticked at her.

"And I am not rooming with Jesse again," she whinged. "I want to room with you, Matt."

"You can't room with me," Matt explained for the fourth time in an overly calm tone. "Sean's and my room only fits two people."

"What's wrong with me?" Jesse protested indignantly as the doors opened.

Ali flicked her hair over her shoulder. "You snore like a chainsaw. I barely got any beauty sleep last time."

"It shows," I muttered to myself. If I wasn't mistaken, a glimmer of a smile slid across Sean's lips. Hauling my duffel onto my shoulder, I shot Trill a questioning look as we headed to our room. "I thought you didn't snore when a girl's in the room. You only started after you and Sara got your own rooms."

Trill shrugged and unlocked our door. "Who knows? Maybe Ali's secretly a really convincing transvestite."

Well. If that isn't a mood booster, I don't know what is.

Even though it was getting on in the evening, it seemed like no one really wanted to go to sleep, myself included. So I hopped the elevator back down the building and strolled into the bar/lounge area where clusters of other people from tour were relaxing. I glanced around: tour veterans at the bar, younger ones lazing around in comfy armchairs near the piano, some in the mid--ooh, piano!

I made a bee-lined for a man in a hotel uniform and put on a friendly smile; I noticed quickly that his nametag read 'manager' in large print beneath his name. "Hello," I greeted him. "Um, would you mind if I played the piano a while?"

He eyed me disdainfully for a moment. "You're part of that tour that's staying here, aren't you?" he said snippily. I nodded innocently and he heaved a sigh. "Well, alright. But don't be raucous. We have other patrons here as well."

Too bad for him I'd turned after 'alright.' But I wouldn't disturb people too much. That's harder to do with a piano than, say, a drum set.

I scooted the bench forward and straightened my posture, placing my hands on the keys. Several dozen eyes had noticed me, but I tried to ignore them as I began playing a classical piece. Classical to appease the snooty manager and the scowling old people.

After playing a few simple classical pieces, I got bored and started playing jazz. In the middle of one, I felt someone sit down beside me and glanced sideways to see Brendon smiling at me. "Let's annoy everyone and play 'Heart and Soul'," he said craftily.

I chuckled, continuing to play. "Sorry, Bren, but I don't know how," I admitted, shaking my head. "But I can play 'Moonlight Sonata'. Oh, and I can play this." Then I started playing the piano part for 'But It's Better If You Do', which got groans from tourmates and protests from Brendon that it wasn't his idea.

Glaring at me, he returned to his corner with a few of the guys on DecayDance, which included Bill, Jon, Patrick, Spencer, and Ryan. And naturally, where there was Ryan, there was Alison. I seethed instantly, remembering why I was having such a shitty day and feeling my ribs ache in anger.

Lips pressed tightly shut, I continued playing piano, even got some requests and sang a little. Soon the lounge began to clear out of other hotel clientele, leaving only those from tour; the manager opted to let us stay for a while since we'd gotten in so late and there were so many of us.There was some bribery somewhere.

I ignored the quiet applause as I finished The Eagles' "Desperado"-- apparently, a favourite-- and glared down at my hands in my lap. Sitting motionless, I darted my eyes over to the group in the corner: Ali was sitting practically in Ryan's lap, giggling and occasionally playing with his hair. William caught my eye, a look on sympathy gracing his features, and I returned to my hands.

An idea suddenly sprang to mind, and I smiled cruelly at the ivory keys, placing my hands on them again. No one really seemed to notice the cutesy, music-box-like tune I began to play. Until, that is, I slammed a low chord. Then I had everyone's attention.

"~Coin operated boy~," I sang innocently, eyes fixed on my fingers.
"~Sitting on the shelf he is just a toy
But I turn him on and he comes to life
Automatic joy
That is why I want a coin-operated boy~

"~Made of plastic and elastic,~" I continued, over-enunciating and practically hissing the lyrics.
"~He is rugged and long-lasting
Who could ever ever ask for more?
Love without complications galore
Many shapes and weights to choose from
I will never leave my bedroom
I will never cry at night again
Wrap my arms around him and pretend...~"

I only sang the next verse because it was written as such, and I was no one to change such artistry. But it didn't apply to me or the revenge I was making a point of seeking at that very moment.

"~Coin operated boy
all the other real ones that I destroy
cannot hold a candle to my new boy and I'll
never let him go and I'll never be alone,~" I repeated over and over, head jerking to the side like a broken wind-up doll. But I snapped out of it, quite professionally, in time for the bridge.

"~Not with my coin operated boy.~"

I bit my lower lip hard as I pressed, probably a little too firmly, on the next two required chords. But I refused to look up. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of that. I wouldn't show him how much I meant it. Instead, I would throw myself into the music.

"~This bridge was written to make you feel smittener
With my sad picture of girl getting bitterer
Can you extract me from my plastic fantasy?
I didn't think so but I'm still convincible
Will you persist even after I bet you
A billion dollars that I'll never love you?
Will you persist even after I kiss you
Goodbye for the last time?
Will you keep on trying to prove it?
I'm dying... to lose it
I'm losing... my confidence
I want it
I want you,~" In a rage, I played the part, saying each word with cutting precision. And just as quickly, I cut it off, clean as a hairline fracture.

"~I want a coin operated boy.~"

Instead of the prescribed wail that Amanda Palmer would have vocalized-- as I was less than capable of such, even in such a state-- I emitted an almost imperceptible whimper. And if I knew the people who could hear-- which I did-- that said so much more.

During the instrumentals, I tried to restrain my emotion and put on a disinterested expression through the verse.

"~And if I had a star to wish on
For my life I can't imagine
Any flesh and blood could be his match
I can even take him in the bath~." And that line just made me giggle. All things considered.

But as the song began to wind down, I found myself getting just as depressed as when I started. As depressed as I should sound playing it. My voice grew softer, almost cracking in certain places.

"~Coin operated boy
He may not be real experienced with girls
But I know he feels like a boy should feel
Isn't that the point?
That is why I want a
Coin operated boy
With his pretty coin operated voice
Saying that he loves me, that he's thinking of me
Straight and to the point
That is why I want
A coin operated boy.~"

As I ended the song, I felt the weight of it descend upon me. I sit perfectly still at the piano, surrounded by the dead-quiet of the lounge and bar. After a long moment, my eyes darted sideways.

All attentions were on me. But I wasn't looking at the others. I was focused on Ryan's facial expression, changing rapidly. I only barely caught it melting from vulnerably fury to hurt, but I definitely caught it switch quickly to irritation. And then, after a second, stoic indifference.

I snapped my head around as someone tapped my shoulder, and the manager took a step back and cleared his throat, struggling to maintain his air of authority over me. "Miss, I'll have to ask you to return to your room now," he said, voice sounding too loud in the silence. "We have to cl--"

"Don't worry about it," I interrupted politely, rising from my seat. "I was just about to leave anyway."

As I glided out towards the elevator, I heard Brendon whisper, "She's not allowed to meet Amanda, if I have any sense at all. Ever." And that only made me smirk wearily.

I was tired all of a sudden. Might have had something to do with the lack of sleep for three days, but I kind of doubt it. I didn't even move to keep the elevator door open for Bill and Jon as they tried to flag me down. I just leaned against the opposite wall and watched them disappear, then hung my head as I ascended.

Fuck tired, I decided rubbing my eye with a palm. I was exhausted.

Which is why I was less than pleased that there were three extra bands-worth of boys-- All Time Low, Paramore, and Cobra Starship-- in my room as there should have been. Which was just one.

But I quietly ignored them, playing up my fatigue in order to pass unnoticed, and shut the bedroom door softly. I changed into boxers and a tank, went through my nightly routine, and climbed into the crisp, freezing sheets. I shivered, both at the cold and memories running through my head, and curled up in bed, trying to ignore the ruckus not twenty feet away.

What a shock, I couldn't. The one time I try to sleep, and they're raising hell. It figures.

So after aneternity hour of tossing, turning, and attempting to drown out the noise, I threw back the covers and trailed out with the top blanket wrapped around me. Squinting in the bright light, I passed through the hall, right by the living room area, and out the door into the hall.

Christ, I muttered to myself. At least it's quiet out here.

I stumbled down the hall, occasionally tripping over the blanket, and tried to remember which door I'd seen Hayley entering earlier that night. After some calculation, I knocked wearily on a door.

Bzzt. Wrong door.

"Sorry, Shawn," I mumbled, blinking to keep my eyes open. "I was looking for Hayley's room."

"Three down on the right," he informed me with a smile. I nodded, turning to slump towards my destination. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. She and Josh are sharing tonight."

I stopped in my tracks, wincing at the mental image and at the smirk in his voice. Whirling, I returned to Shawn, now leaning in the doorway and looked up at him. His smile widened. "Do you have a couch I can borrow?" I asked pathetically. "There's a mob in my room. A loud mob."

Shawn chuckled. "Sure, Pen," he acceded, moving back a step. "Justin and I are watching a movie, so you--" I heard him pause before shutting the door, but thought nothing of it as I shuffled to the couch, occupied by one Justin San Souci-- "You can take my bed."

"Oh, no, I don't want to impede," I yawned, curling up against the arm of the couch. "You guys just watch your movie and just forget I'm here." And I tried to pay attention to said movie, instead of how tired I was or how nice their laughs where, but I felt my eyes drooping heavily, and then everything got muzzy.

~Ryan~

"God, they're loud," I observed in annoyance, listening to the rabble a few doors down. "It's late. Can't they just damn sleep?"

"Well, go tell them to shut up, Mister Up-In-Arms," Spencer directed, hopping into bed.

I nodded and crossed the hotel room to the door, picking up the key as I went. But when I stepped out, I jerked back in, spotting Angie at the other end, facing the other way. I drew my head in as she turned as stopped at a door, and my eyes narrowed when I recognised Shawn Harris, leaning in the doorway in front of Angie.

They exchanged a few words, which I leaned out a little farther and strained to hear, and she entered past him. Blood boiled in my veins. She went to him?

Then something strange happened. Shawn looked both ways down the hall, stopping when he saw me, standing halfway into the hall. I couldn't read the expression on his face from the distance, but I made sure as hell he knew I didn't like what I was seeing.

Shawn raised his eyebrows and withdrew into his room, leaving me to seethe. I didn't give a shit about the noise anymore. I wasn't going to sleep. Because my girlfriend was sleeping in another guy's room, just to torture me.

And I hated the mere idea of that.