If Only Until Morning

As I stood in the bathroom looking at the mirror, I realised I couldn't remember half the things I'd done all tour. Sure, I probably had pictures from every single day, but staring blankly at the circles under my red, bloodshot eyes, my vacant expression, I could barely call to mind any specific separation of days.

I washed my face, got dressed, and meticulously put on makeup, hiding the signs of sleep deprivation and bad health. Instead of lying in my bunk and being bored, I looked up insomnia on Wikipedia. I didn't find much of help aside from all the medications I could refuse to take.

All I had planned for the day, which I explained to Aromi when he asked, was sitting in the booth, playing our set, talking to some fans,avoiding some people, and getting to the bus early to try meditating myself to sleep. Obviously this put a crimp on his day, since he somehow had decided that we had to go out. I politely declined, saying I would only ruin his mood.

"You worry too much about other people, Penangela," he said chidingly. I squinted at him under the shade of my hand; the booth didn't provide much shade if we were facing East in the morning. "You need to be selfish sometimes."

"That's a new one," Beth commented, braiding her hair. "Normally you hear people admonishing the lead singer to stop being such a selfish prick."

"You've obviously been hanging out with the wrong lead singers," I pointed out.

I fell silent as Matt and Sean returned from leaving Alison at the bus station. "'A bus, Matt? Really?' Christ, like it was below her or something," Matt disparaged, rolling his eyes. "Definitely not the girl I used to know."

"I would hope so," Beth said archly. "Otherwise I'd steal Angie back to Illinois and never let her consort with the likes of you and your abominable taste again."

Matt opened his mouth, obvious from his expression to retort, and I was in no mood for more people being miserable, so I cut it, "Luckily he's seen the error of his ways and the bitch is gone, so let talk of her die." The five of them blinked at me, somehow astounded by my choice of words. I stood and put on a smile. "Besides, we have a set to play and people's day to make."

"I have no idea how the hell I'm going to make this up to you," Matt said quietly as we walked towards the stage. "I mean, you were right all along and we're friends, practically blood-sibling status, and friends are supposed to trust each other." He winced, looking at me in shame. "I dunno what to say or do. Because 'I'm sorry' doesn't even begin to cover it."

I walked a few more steps before speaking. "I know the 'right thing' for me to do would be to forgive you and say it's all good because I love you and you mean a lot to me," I contemplated aloud. "But you're too smart not to understand that isn't human. To hold a grudge and be pissed off at you for a long time is human." I looked over at him, staring at me beseechingly. "But I don’t want to do that, Mattie. I want everything to be peachy keen: you and I get along as well as we always have, the band stays together and doesn't fall apart because of an outsider, Beth and Jesse finally give up on the barriers and just jump each other already..." Matt chuckled, while Trill turned around having only tuned into the conversation for his name.

We walked backstage and began setting up our instruments, tuning and stretching. Matt sat down beside me on an amp, making me scoot over to make room. "But that's life, kid," I said with a sad smile. "It never turns out the way you plan it."

"You should know better than to take advice from Conor Oberst," he reminded with a level smile.

I grinned. "Oh, but it's so easy!" We both laughed quietly and fell into listening to the crowd. "Tell you what: I'll try to get over myself if you never ever hire someone to our team without my consent again. And you buy me lunch and let me use your drums set whenever I want for the rest of the year."

Matt laughed, getting up as we got our cue. "No problem, babe. So long as we're cool." He gave me a hug as we walked out onto he stage. "About the hiring to our crew, though, Pen..."

"Can't talk about Beth, gotta play a show!" I interrupted, jogging to the mic. "What's up, Jersey?"

With four over-educated people, one of whom was studying the psychology of music at university, it was obvious we would know how to make a lasting impression on an audience, so we always ended with a really high-energy song to get everyone jumping around. Plus it made us feel great, so there's a bonus.

And I'd learned that really dedicated fans liked to bring us gifts, sort of as thanks for entertaining them, but I really wasn't expecting one of the big burly security guards to turn around after our last song and hand up a rose. I grinned bemusedly and tipped my imaginary hat before sauntering off the stage.

"Where'd you get that?" Jesse asked, cocking his head at the red rose in my hand.

"One of the bouncers gave it to me," I explained, smelling it.

"Wot's th'note say?" Sean inquired, drying himself off with a towel.

I flipped open the little card and read the oddly familiar handwriting. "You can't resist a riddle," I read aloud. "Of this I am quite sure. You can find your next lead, with him who brought you to tour..." I drifted off, frowning thoughtfully at the folded slip of paper.

"Man, like you need a secret admirer," Matt scoffed, flipping hair out of his eyes. "You have enough unconstrained admirers as it is."

I walked along with the guys back to the booth, still mulling over the quatrain. Two major clues to the identity were his/her-- though I doubted a female due to the handwriting-- correct grammar and the last line. Well, the bus driver brought us here, I mused, But that's too technical.

"Where's Pete?" I asked suddenly, making the guys stop beside me.

"Er, probably th'meet an' greet," Sean said, looking confused, "I remember they were signed fo-- where are y'goin'?"

Before he'd finished, I'd taken off in the other direction, towards large tent overshadowing the meet and greet tables. I dodged in between the tiny gaps that opened between people, moving much faster than the meandering pace of the crowd. People walk much too slowly.

I flashed my pass at security and slid in through the back area, trying to seem invisible to all the people waiting in line. I waved when my name lifted in a call and leaned down to Pete's level, sitting comfortably behind the table. "I believe you have something for me?" I murmured in his ear.

"That I do," he confirmed, signing a CD for a diminutive girl with orange and pink hair. I stood back, crossing my arms impatiently while they took a picture together. Pete grinned and produced another red rose with another note from beneath the table. "Here you go, Ange."

“Don’t suppose you’ll tell me who gave you this, huh?” I asked, grinning hopefully.

Pete laughed. “Hell no. He told me specifically not to; we both know you’re wily enough to figure it out.”

“Hey, um.” I looked up at the girl now standing before us as I took the rose. “Do you think I could get a picture of you two? Just you two?” Pete agreed immediately, and I rolled my eyes as I leaned my head against his, smiling my usual half-smile I reserved for fan pictures. “Thank you so much! You’re my favourite musicians. I can’t believe I got you together!”

Having escaped the possibility of more pictures, I stood outside the tent and opened the attached note: You must really think me a quack, Because you’ll have to go all the way back; And now your brain you must wrack, To get the next clue from one no de Bergerac.

“Who on this tour is intelligent enough to reference a nineteenth-century play about a seventeenth-century swordsman and wordsmith?” I demanded of no one. I sighed, starting into the wandering crowd again.

I walked and thought, repeating the poem in my head with the roses under my nose. You’ll have to go all the way back... all the way back to where? I muttered the whole thing under my breath and stopped when a thought occurred to me. It couldn’t be that simple.

But just in case it was... I pulled out my phone and scrolled to the bottom. “Zackary darling,” I greeted once he picked up. “Have you got a red rose with a note in your possession, by any chance?”

“Nope, sorry, Pen,” he replied. I deflated; I knew it couldn’t have been that easy, just rhyming every last syllable with-- “Jack does, though.”

...Dammit.

“Yeah, he’s being really weird about it,” Merrick continued. “He won’t let anyone touch it or read the piece of paper attached to it.”

I dragged a hand down my face. “Where are you guys?”

“At the merch booth.” I snapped my phone shut and strode off towards Merch Avenue. Whoever this guy is is going to get a piece of my mind when I figure him out.

Unfortunately my little goose chase continued for another hour and all over the damn venue. The fifth and final note led me all the way back to our own merch booth for me to find Matt and Sean smiling conspiratorially and another gift. I stared, gob-smacked, at the beautiful bouquet that lay on the table. No doubt as to my “secret admirer” anymore.

“The bastard,” I seethed, taking up the flowers wrapped in plastic.

The guys’ smiles slipped. “What?” Matt asked, pitch leaping a mile into the air.

I buried my face in the gorgeous scent. “He knows that I love cream-coloured roses.” Matt and Sean exchanged confused glances, and I rolled my eyes. “Ryan.” They oh’d in understanding. I sighed, half-happily and half-remorsefully. “I’m going to go put these in some water.”

The problem about all of this, in case you were confused, is that despite being mostly a militant individualist and feminist, I was a firm believer that a guy is a real gentleman if he gives a girl flowers. And red and off-white roses were my favourite. And I was livid at Ryan.

He cheated on you night before last, I reminded myself. With that fucking bitch, no less.

But you’d practically broken up with him. Don’t be like those psycho girlfriends.

No! I have every right to be pissed off. I told him quite distinctly that I didn’t like her and that she was no good.

I opened the door to the bus and walked in quietly. I paused for a moment, blinked in surprise, and, grinning widely, tiptoed to the bathroom as quietly as possible. I chuckled to myself as I filled up the make-shift vase I'd grabbed from the kitchen area.

Jesse and Beth had been on the couch, quite... involved?... with what they were doing. No, no being coy: they were making out. Avidly. And they seemed to be enjoying themselves. At least enough to not notice another person entering the room.

Twice.

I set the flowers on the table and, unable to contain myself any longer, reflected as I went for the door, “You know, you’re lucky it was I and not someone like Matt to walk in. They would have mocked you into oblivion.” I cackled as I headed back to the booth; the guilty, shocked looks on their faces were absolutely priceless.

Beth was going to torture and murder me.

I must have been insane, to have been in such a better mood from a single event. What could I say? I liked to see my friends happy. But somehow I managed to forget what I’d been doing for half an hour. Luckily Matt was at booth still to remind me with yet another slip of paper.

I sighed as I took it. “Oh, leave me alone, you thoughtful wanker,” I muttered, opening the note. Seventeen didn’t strike you as strange? Meet me out behind the local stage after the last set.

I collapsed into a chair and hung my head back. “Where did I go wrong?” I asked wearily. “I only wanted to tour and entertain people and maybe make some cash. What was so bad about that plan?”

Matt patted my forehead comfortingly. “You are going to go, right?” he asked, looking at the note. I lifted my head and fixed him with a narrow glare. “What? It’s a legit question! I think you should!”

I shook my head. “Of course I’m going,” I said quietly. "I'm not stupid."

We sat there in silence for a long awkward moment until Sean broke the silence. "Er... Pen, y'know th'last band on th'local stage already wen' on, righ'?"

"Why, Sean?" I demanded, heaving myself up. "That's all I ever want to know. Just why."

I tried to walk slowly, but I couldn't help going only slightly slowly than my regular pace. To be honest I felt like running like an ax murderer was chasing me. I couldn't tell whether it was to meet Ryan or to avoid him, though.

But soon enough I found myself at the stage, standing at the back of the sparse crowd. I took a deep breath as the few people milling around me applauded and began to disperse, but I remained rooted to my spot. I even stayed in the same place and let the band come talk to me, surprised to find "someone of my social stature watching them."

Well, the social was added as an afterthought. They were a band of hardcore boys from Jersey, after all.

But once they cleared off I realised I had nowhere else to go. So I took a deep breath,gripped my self-righteousness by the throat and walked around the stage. Ryan was sitting on the stairs, twirling another red rose between his fingers, looking nothing short of dismal.

"How the hell'd you manage to get eighteen roses delivered ahead to a venue?" I asked trying not to smile; the sentiment really got to me, despite how stupid I knew it was.

"I didn't," he replied casually, not looking up at me. "I went out and bought 'em two days ago. Spencer made fun of me for 'trying to brighten up the place'." Ryan tilted his head up and I had to look away.

I kicked at the ground, twisting my fingers together behind my back. "So..." I mumbled, drawing out the vowel. "Why did you ask me to come to an empty backstage?" I paused, blinking at a patch of ground between us. "...That's away from everyone else..."

My eyes darted up as Ryan stood. "Like I said, seventeen's an odd number." He held out the rose, and I hesitated in taking it, never quite meeting his eye. "Also I wanted to explain myself."

"What's to explain?" I snapped coldly, taking a step backfor safety. "I said sleep on the idea and you decided to do something about it. What could be clearer than that?" I turned to leave, just angry again.

"Rhi, wait." I stopped, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to ignore Ryan's hand holding my arm. "I know it's an incredibly corny line, but it really wasn't what it looked like."

"What was it, Ryan? You tripped and her tongue accidentally landed in your throat?"

"No! She said something about you not looking too pleased, and I said that we had sort of broken up," Ryan rambled, still holding onto me, "And she smiles and says, 'Well, then I'm allowed to do this!' And she just jumps on me!"

I ripped my arm away. "And you decided that it was a grand idea to just go along with it?"

"I didn't know what to do," he explained, wearily pushing his hair out of his face. "I just panicked and froze! Plus she was holding me by the neck! What would you have done if someone did the same to you?"

I swallowed, two names instantly springing to mind. "Oh, I don't know, push him off?" I shook my head, realising that I'd been holding the rose so tightly my hand was bleeding. "I can't deal with this anymore, Ry. It's s--"

Ryan took both my hands and looked at me earnestly. "I know that I've be a terrible boyfriend and an even worse friend this whole tour," he admitted, running his thumbs over my hands. "And there's no way I can apologise that'll make it all better... even though most of it is my fault." I bit the inside of my lower lip, determined not to pull any true expression. "I know I haven't been there for you... but I'm here now."

He looked up at my desperation in his eyes. In the eyes I missed so much. I would've given anything to see him smile at me again. All I wanted was to show him that I knew and I understood, and I wanted to fix this. It could all work out.

But no. I had morals and I had standards. I'd made a promise to myself, and I told Ryan, that I would never allow myself to become the girl that let guys take advantage of her, in whatever sense you like. So I had to lie. Lie and make it real.

"That's nice," I spat, narrowing my eyes, "But I don't need you now. I needed you yesterday, and the day before, and the one before that." I pulled my hands away, keeping my face set. "I needed you and you weren’t there. But I've learned." I started stepping backwards. This would be better; I could move on from this. "I'm not naïve, Ryan, and I'm not an idealistic little girl. You should know that."

Sighing, I turned and walked away. Maybe by end of tour I could put myself together enough to see if we could still be friends. None of the clichéd nonsense though. But for now... I needed to think about some things. Alone.

"Liar."

I felt like my whole life, past, present, and future, had stopped in that one second. It was sort of a paradox: everything I had never understood made perfect sense and everything I thought was real turned out to be less than a pipe dream.

And I turned and came back to reality.

"Excuse me?" I asked, still stringing out the act.

Ryan tilted his head, smile growing wider as he looked at me. "I know you well enough to know when you're lying," he laughed. "Even though you're way too good at it."

Bluff like it matters.

I crossed my arms. "You think I’m joking?" I asked softly, staring him down. “You think this is funny?”

He licked his lips, trying to stay his laughter. "Maybe a little. But the fact that you're lying means you don't want to give up. And that's worth being happy." Ryan grinned at me, and I seriously considered giving in right then. "I know you're not naïve, and you're far from a little girl." I raised an eyebrow at him. "But idealistic?" He meandered towards me a stopped inches from my face. And he smiled. "That's what I've always loved about you."

And then he kissed me. My hands twitched to push him away, because a voice in my head screamed reminders of what he put me through. But when I reached up, I could only pull him closer.

And kiss him back.