Dedication Takes a Lifetime

--o c’mon it’s a simple q.

I smirked, squinting at my phone in the darkness. It was close to two now. We’d arrived back at Jack’s house around eleven and chatted for a bit before going to bed just a little before midnight. Alex had not been home, nor had I heard him come home since. I assumed he was at a bar, or staying at a friend’s house, or having a one night stand. Whatever. I didn’t care. But less than half an hour after lying down, I realized I wouldn’t be able to sleep; that’s when I’d received the first text from Lipshaw, as if summoned by my sleepless mind. We’d been talking via text for the past hour.

--It’s a ridiculous question, though, I typed back quickly.

--but i wanna know the answer.

I rolled my eyes. --Fine. If I was a bug, I would probably be a praying mantis.

--ooh hot.

--How is that hot? lol.

--you use males for sex n then bite their heads off. hot.

--You have a creepy mind, Lipshaw.

--you love it, vader.

--Un peu, homme bel.

--aw, you think i’m a beautiful man?? lmao.

I blushed; I had not been expecting him to understand any French, and now he knew that I found him attractive. Awesome. I formulated a quick excuse and sent it to him. --Shuddup. Well listen, I’m actually starting to get sleepy now, so I’m gonna get some shut-eye. See you tomorrow night, though!

--looking forward to it. g’night. There was a fifteen second pause and then another message popped up. --btw don’t be embarrassed. i know i’m cute. my mommy told me so. ;)

I laughed despite my mortification and tossed my phone onto my pillow, sitting up. I wasn’t very tired at all, in all honesty. I knew I should try to sleep, but I didn’t see it happening any time soon. Especially not with Kal snoring so loudly right next to me. So I put my earbuds in and turned my iPod on before making my way to the hallway. I was in my pajamas and completely barefoot, but I didn’t care; everyone else was asleep. I tiptoed carefully out of the room and walked to the kitchen, swaying to the music as I went.

“Yes, I feel emphatic about not being static and not buying philosophies that are sold to me at a steal.” I sang the lyrics quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone, and went about making myself a mug of hot tea. “Just when you thought it was safe to think, in comes mental piracy and, no; what I'm looking for can't be sold to me.” I continued on as the water heated in the kettle, and I had to wonder what kind of twenty-one year old men kept a tea kettle in their house; it was an entertaining thought. I had the mental image of Jack and Alex in top hats, sipping tea from tiny cups with their pinkies out on cool Sunday evenings, discussing cricket and the queen.

My inner thoughts are very British.

“When it comes around, it comes announced,” I sang a little louder for my favorite part, my feet stepping one over the other gracefully, bare feet sticking ever so slightly against the cold kitchen tile. “And it feels like a matador is taunting me with his reddest red cloth, and I am the bull. Yes, I feel emphatic about not being static and not eating the bullshit that’s being fed to me, no, no. ‘Cause now I’m full.”

I turned away from the stove to put my mug on the kitchen table when I found a figure sitting in one of the chairs, staring at the tablecloth but obviously listening. I gasped, almost dropping the mug but catching myself just in time to set it down carefully and then tug my earbuds out.

“Alex, what the hell are you doing?” I hissed, smacking my iPod down next to the mug and crossing my arms across my chest.

He waved a hand around uselessly. “I was just, I came home,” he was obviously drunk, “And then there you were all dancey and singy and I wanted to…” I hiccupped, “Uh, I needed to sit down. Right here. In my chair. In my kitchen.” He paused, never once meeting my eyes, then added a drawn out, “Yuuup.”

“Hm,” I clicked my tongue before taking the first sip of my hot tea. And all at once it hit me: I was standing, hair and teeth unbrushed, in the middle of Alex Gaskarth’s kitchen, in nothing but a pair of cotton shorts and matching tank top, no shoes on and glasses missing. How did embarrassing shit like this keep happening to me around him? How did I always end up so exposed?

I immediately felt like running away; I had to get far from him. I gathered up my things and started out of the kitchen when I felt his hand wrap around my wrist, stopping me.

“Make Yourself,” he mumbled, “Better than Morning View and Light Grenades combined.” Again, I was shocked by the knowledge he retained. I barely remembered our discussion about the better Incubus album that night we first met, and he remembered it even when he was drunk. What did that say? Maybe he didn’t hate me as much as he pretended to. Or that’s what I thought until the words, “But not so much when you sing it,” followed.

And even though I’d decided to bury my anger--even though I’d decided to show him what I was made of onstage at the concert--I couldn’t control what came next.

My jaw clenched. My chest tightened. My iPod fell with a plastic crash to the floor. And I smacked him. With as much force as I could muster in the small space between us, I jerked my wrist from his grasp and I smacked him across his face. “Me,” I growled at him, “My band; we’ve got something. Something good. Something real. And you have no idea what the fuck you are talking about.”

I snatched my iPod up from the floor and stomped back to my room, breathing heavily, hands shaking from anger. I slammed my tea down on the bedside table, jolting Kal momentarily from her sleep only to have her return to snoring a little later. I slid under the covers next to her and seethed as my tea grew cold and sleep finally took me.