If Only Until Morning

It was my fault, really. I should have known better than to arbitrarily introduce a topic of conversation that would lead to questions, especially to a group of males with far less than innocent minds. Well, I suppose I could have blamed it entirely on Ali, who really started the actual problem, but I'd been trying not to do that. I was trying to be the better person.

After our early morning stop for gas, a bunch of people decided to tranship to our bus, which didn't surprise me at all. It gave me people to lounge around on, and that I could appreciate, if not the crowdedness.

With my head rested against Sean's leg and my legs crossed over Jesse's lap, I did my routine morning pondering staring at the ceiling, though anyone else would have told you I was either spacing out or being antisocial. Don't know how you can be antisocial surrounded by loud people in close quarters, but there you go.

Today's musings involved boys in general: how they act, how they speak, how they process mentally, and why the hell they do it in the way they do. Unfortunately when I get stuck on an idea I can't figure out on my own, I tend to ask it aloud of whoever happens to be around.

And I wonder why people think I'm crackers.

So, frowning slightly at the ceiling, still in thought, I asked, "Why are guys so obsessed with breasts?"
Vaguely I noticed the clacking of game controllers stop and the hum of conversation cut off, and after a second, I shook out of my reverie to find that every single person (sans the bus driver) was staring at me. So I went back to looking at the ceiling.

"What?" someone asked, confused.

"I can't figure it out," I continued, slipping a hand under my head, "I mean, obviously it's something sexual, but why? They're just sacks of muscle and fatty tissue attached to our chests."

The silence continued after a few seconds. "Seriously?" Pete asked.

"Is she always this weird when I'm not around?" Patrick asked my band, wholittle bastards probably nodded.

"Are you really asking us?" Gabe raised the question carefully. As soon as I nodded, I could see that this could go very badly very fast.

"Because they're squishy and fun and we don't have them," Jack replied seriously. Several of the guys nodded in agreement.

I laughed, turning my head to look at him. "As someone who's had to dress in drag for a short film," Jesse said at my knees, "I still have no idea how girls don't just walk around all the time feeling themselves up." Now everyone laughed, mostly making fun of him for having dressed like a woman. I saw nothing wrong with that.

"Alright, so you find them interesting because they're new and different from your anatomy," I conceded. "But why are they fun?" That inquiry was met with more confused silence. I glanced around the room: the guys looked at each other, frowned and maybe shrugged. "Oh, so you don't know either. Well, I don't feel bad then." With that I shut my eyes and went back to thinking.

Someone, I wasn't paying attention to whom, brought up Patrick's point again, and that led Alex to comment that he really didn't know anything about me. Shocker there, but a bunch of others agreed. "All you need to know about me, you learn from interaction," I declared formally, eyes still shut, "And that I am my least favourite subject."

But unfortunately they kept at it, as they realised they didn't really know anything about any of the band. Apparently we're very private people. So they asked questions: the usual boring pieces of information. I opened one eye and tapped Sean, signalling that I didn't want to address the third degree. That's what I had the boys for.

I merely listened to all the questions and answers, the hilarity therein, and kept to myself. But when someone asks you to "describe your perfect person", it's a question that no one else, let alone another guy, can answer for you. When the silence prompted me to respond, I sat up and arched an eyebrow at Gabe. "Perfect," I said, "Is an irrational standard to hold any person to."

"Fine, whatever," Alex granted, waving that away. "What do you look for in a guy?"

"I don't look," I answered with a smile. "Any guy I've known, romantically or not, has metaphorically fallen into my lap."

"Including your boyfriend?" Shawn inquired casually. I shot him a glare that screamed for him to shut up. "So that's a yes."

"Aha!" Gabe exclaimed, pointing. "I know you were hiding something!"

I rolled my eyes at him, or at the room in general. "I have perfectly legitimate reasons for omitting the fact that I am in a relationship."

"Like what?"

"Like none of your damn business, Pete," I sniped, throwing him a pointed smirk. I tossed my head, letting my hair flit off my shoulders. "It is for situations such as this where, if nobody knew it existed, I would not be required to answer questions."

But naturally that wasn't good enough for these guys, so they insisted on demanding details about him. Not the dirty interesting kind, because that's just sort of weird, dudes asking about another dude's... department. Eventually the round of questioning got around to what I would change about him.

"I don't think you should try to change people," I said, perched on Shawn's lap with a Dr. Pepper in one hand. "You don't have the right. But he does do certain things that drive me positively insane."

"Like what?" Patrick asked. Patrick, who probably knew about whom I was talking.

"Like get miffed at my actions when he goes and does exactly the same thing. Then he flips when I call him out on it."

"But I do that," Shawn said, frowning curiously.

I shrugged and took a sip of soda. "But you're older and stuck in your ways. Plus I'm not dating you, so I can let it go more easily." I paused and pointed a finger at him. "But if it gets in my way, then we've got trouble." Some of the others laughed as the bus stopped, and we all made ready to really start the day.

It didn't occur to me until she started simpering to Matt, but Alison had been suspiciously silent during that whole ride. Sure, she'd woken up later than the rest of us, but she was still included in the room. I tried to write it off as her being tired, but my cynical nature wouldn't let me. Something was up.

But I tried my best to forget about her. I had other things to think about, such as being on time for our set in the afternoon when I had an interview and directing our unofficial street team members to take care of. However, once I strode off from the cameraman and the interviewer, I had time to breathe.

Breathing comes hard when you're from San Francisco and you're stuck in Iowa in July. I am not made for anything but Nordic weather.

Performing was really my haven though. With a bass strapped over my shoulder and a microphone in my face, I could forget about pretty much anything except what song we're playing and the crowd in front of me. Life is good on stage.

Despite the fact he's an asshole for pointing it out, Walt Whitman was right. Nothing gold can stay.

As we walked from the stage after signing things for and taking pictures with fans, the four of us were in incredibly high spirits. The guys cracked jokes and laughed loudly, and Matt was even humming. For a moment I felt a sweep of nostalgia: summer used to seem so innocent. You know, before the wild temptations of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Not that any of us were getting any now, but I digress.

Sean suddenly halted in his tracks, leaving the rest of us to stumble over each other. He quirked his head slightly, frown wrinkling his brow. "D'you hear tha'?" he asked.

Matt, Jesse, and I imitated his stance, straining to listen. "Hear what?" Jesse asked. "All I hear's a lot of people enjoying their day."

"Someone's yellin'..." He took a step to the right, leaning towards a sound that apparently only he could hear. "Or rantin' or somethin'."

"I think Butch Cassidy's finally cracked," Matt said sombrely.

"Do we have to take him out back and shoot him?" I asked sadly. "I'm opposed to violence."

Sean rolled his eyes at us and started walking. "Very funny. It's comin' from over 'ere." We followed him curiously, wondering what the hell he'd noticed that we hadn't.

I think I heard it first, since Sean lost the trail when the speaker changed and I was most familiar with Alison's tone of voice when talking about me. "And then she said," she regaled, "that she didn't care at all that Shawn does the same thing sometimes because she's more bothered by you and he's older."

If she was talking about what I thought she was talking about, that was definitely not what I said.

And as we walked up behind him, Ryan-- my darling sweet love-- Ryan fumed, running a hand over his face, and said with thinly veiled anger, "Of course she did. She fucking loves him." He made an aggravated noise. "God. I guess I was wrong about her being special, different from all the others."

I stopped short, staring wide-eyed at the back of his head. The guys froze around me and Alison looked past Ryan at us. Her face flashed to victory for half a second, then she gasped overdramatically. Hearing this, Ryan looked at her and, following her gaze, turned around to us.

"Oh?" I inquired with terse casualty as a look of horror overtook him. I crossed my arms. "Is that what you really think, then?" He opened his mouth to attempt making amendsnot that there was much to salvage now, but I continued, voice growing colder. "I'm no different from any of the other girls you've dated, am I?"

Without waiting for a response, I turned on a heel and strode away from the soundless group towards the bus. Once I was out of range of fans and other people, my void expression crumpled and I squeezed my eyes shut, letting loose the tears I'd been holding back.

And we were doing so well after that lunch. Sure, we'd gotten accosted by fans and had to make up excuses for quote "looking guilty like we'd just gotten caught making out when we were supposed to be studying", but things were better. We smiled at each other in acknowledgment every time we passed each other and could hang out with our mutual friends without it being awkward. I believed we were doing so much better.The best part of believe is the lie.

I let myself into the bus and headed straight for the bathroom, the only room which a lock. I slid down the door to the cramped floor and covered my face with my hands. No whimpering, no ridiculous sobbing or wailing. I was a big girl. I could suck it up and not let anyone know where it hurt. I was good at that.

A few hours later, according to the phone on which I'd been texting some of the few people I trusted, a soft knock came at the plane of wood against which I leaned. "Angie?" Aromi asked, muffled. He turned at the knob. "Sweetheart?"

Long since finished crying, I crawled to my feet, desperately avoiding looking at my reflection, and opened the door a crack. He smiled at me hesitantly. "You've been in there a long time," he said softly. "Do you want to come out? Some of the guys are over again."

I winced at the idea, opening the door a little more. "Who?" I asked in a whisper.

"Beckett, Chislett, Trohman, Hurley, and Walker." I contemplated that list for a moment before deciding it would do better to save some face and not give rise to more suspicion. So I slipped out of the bathroom and walked, hand-in-hand with Aero, into the lounge. "Look what I found."

The visitors greeted me as usual, and the usual suspects greeted me somewhat carefully. Alison, however, beamed at me and gave me a sweet hello. I waved meekly at everyone and sat down next to my manager, who slipped an arm around my waist and leaned my head on his shoulder.

I didn't really participate in conversation, even less than usual. Mostly I watched Alison attempt to get Bill to compliment her and Bill flip everything into a joke. Then she switched targets to Joe, who flirted back, but not seriously. When she changed again to Michael, Jon leaned over and whispered to me, "Is covering all her bases for potential make-out buddies, or what?"

At that I snickered and ruffled his hair. "Aww, don't be jealous, Jonno," I said, crossing into the kitchen. "She'll get around to you eventually." I grabbed the cranberry-raspberry juice from the fridge and a plastic cup.

Sipping down the tangy deliciousness, I wandered back to the group, vaguely noticing it had gotten dark; after all I'd be locked up for hours. As I sat down, Alison was saying, having returned to the safety of Matt's lap, "I feel like I should be doing more. Like, I'm so bored just sitting in booth, even though, like, it's really fun."

I rolled my eyes, both at her and at Jon, peering suspiciously into my cup. "It's juice, genius," I informed him. He seemed unconvinced. "Check the cupboards. Nothing that mixes well."

"Maybe I could be in charge of, like, making sure all your stuff is set up?" Ali suggested, smiling obsequiously. Matt shrugged and Jesse said we didn't really need help. Sean, I noticed, politely ignored her and I pondered that over my cup. "Well, I dunno. Maybe... maybe I could play something with you! Yeah! I could play the tambourine!"

Aromi coughed emphatically. "Um, hello? They're a rock band? They don't need a tambourine." And when we wanted one, Jesse or I played it. I caught Sean's eye darkly and he shook his head.

Alison pouted, but brightened after a second. "But you always need a backup singer! I can totally sing. I was in the choir in high school. And maybe if the fans like it, I can record on the next record..."

Excuse my incredible pallor, but bitch did not just say that! "That's it!" I exclaimed, surging to my feet. "I'm fucking done with you!"

"Angie!" Matt objected.

"Shut up, Matthew. I've let everything else go, but this goes too far." I pointed a finger at her, sitting there trying to keep the genuine surprise from her doe eyes. "You will have nothing to do with our music, do you hear me? And don't even pretend you give a fuck about what the fans want!"

"Rhiannon, you are toeing the line of my patience," Matt threatened. And he was dead serious, because he never ever used my first name. But he could go fuck himself.

I laughed harshly. "You jumped that line and over a cliff weeks ago, Matthew Vaughn Lawrie. At this point..." I swallowed down my loud voice. I couldn't believe I was going to say this, but it had to be done. "It's her or me."

"What!?" Oh, so Sean and Jesse had opinions! Apparently so did our other tour mates.

Matt's jaw dropped. "Angie, that's--"

But I didn't catch what he said, since Alison mouthed at me, "They love me more." So I did the first thing that came to mind. I threw my drink at her and stalked to my bunk.

Okay, second thing.

I snapped the curtain to my bunk shut and lay still for a moment. In the other room I could hear Alison practically screaming about stains and the others trying to calm her down. I squeezed my eyes shut and punched the roof. Fucking bitch! I mentally screamed, repeatedly hitting the same spot. Fucking asshole!

I collapsed against my pillow, breathing shallowly, and passed a hand over my eyes. I flexed my fingers tentatively, pain shooting through them, and glanced down: my knuckles were bleeding. Well, too bad I wasn't coming out any time soon.

After I calmed down a little, I called Beth in Illinois. I told her what happened, trying to keep quiet as time and people passed. We talked for a few hours, making plans. For the most part my mood didn't improve, except when Beth declared, "When I see him, Angie, never you worry. He'll make a very fine soprano, love. Quite interesting. He might need operation after we meet." Then I had to stuff my fist in my mouth to stifle my laughter. When we finally said farewell it was nearly eleven. And naturally, little insomniac-wannabe me, I was wide-awake.

So I listened to some music, read by flashlight until my arms grew tired, and watched every video on my iPod. Every time someone passed, I paused to listen, and eventually the light leaking in from the bottom of the curtain went out and the bus's inhabitants grew silent. The bus didn't, however, as it began pouring rain at some point in the middle of one of my short films. And despite my love of rain and my improved ability to sleep during it, driving water pounding against the top of a metal tour bus tends to keep one awake.

Around two the bus halted and I, so bored my music didn't even entertain me, slowly pulled open the curtain and soundlessly lowered myself to the floor. I found my shoes in the dark and searched among the coats and jackets hidden around our living space until I found Matt's red hoodie, too big for either of us. Flipping up the hood, I opened and shut the door quietly behind me.

I wandered idly among the ghostly shadows thrown off by the buses and buildings, feeling the rain soaking through the thick cotton. I twirled and danced, moved by the music stuck in my head. However, I soon stopped, remembering that Ryan and I had done almost the same thing when we were on tour together. That made me stopped in my track, ignoring the water now drenching my hair where my hood had slipped back.

"Angie?" I whirled around to see Spencer standing in the threshold of his bus. "What're you doing out here? We've gotta be up in like six hours." I had no reply, so I just stood there with the rain sliding down my face and neck into my clothes. Spencer hesitated, sprinted out to me, and pulled me back into the bus.

"I can't stay here," I whispered as he sat me down on the couch. "I won't stay here."

"I know you wont," Spence whispered back, "But it's better than you getting pneumonia out there." He shivered and went to grab a blanket. "What were you doing out there?"

"Walking. Avoiding not sleeping. Avoiding a bus full of sleeping people I don't want to be around." I paused, blinking. "Which defeats the purpose thereof, my being here."

"Ryan's not right in the head," he said, skipping the conjunctions of conversation. "He shouldn't have said what he did, or do the things he's doing." Spencer looked pointedly at me. "But neither should you."

"Me? What have I done?" I asked incredulously, starting back from him.

Spencer rolled his eyes. "You know how insecure Ryan is about you, whether you're in another state, another country, or another hotel room. This thing with you and Harris--"

"There is no thing with me and Shawn!" I hissed. I realised I was shaking, which was never a good thing for whatever the reason, so I pressed myself into the couch and shut up.

"I believe you," he assured me, "But he doesn't. Face it, Ange, you're attractive and he's got the older-experienced-man thing... I guess." I smiled, amused by Spencer tripping over ideas. "You have to admit it's a little suspicious that you spend all your free time together. But I'm trying to be objective here. Both you and Ry are in the wrong here, and both obviously feel shitty about the whole situation. You really need to hash this our before we have to divide up our friends."

I stared out the window pensively. Spencer was right, about most of it actually. All this crap was my fault as well. Not that either of us would admit we were wrong until something absolutely dreadful happened. Then it would probably be too late.

I turned to my companion suddenly, frowning slightly. "When did you get so wise and whatnot, Spencer?"

Spencer shrugged. "Iono." I laughed, giving him a hug. "I just hear both sides of the story, I guess." He glanced at the clock on the DVD player. "You should probably go try to get some sleep. We're up bright and early tomorrow."

"My couch is looking awfully friendly then," I mused, traipsing towards the door with a wave. I stepped out into the drizzle, having let up from pouring buckets, and smiled. "The world is most beautiful at sleepless three AM."