Dedication Takes a Lifetime

In Grey Valley’s cool November air, the heat that was radiating from Alex’s palm into mine was warming my entire body. Maybe it was the complete emptiness of the huge parking lot. Maybe it was the mixture of cold and dark, lit only by thousands of stars overhead. Maybe it was because this was the man that wrote the songs that touched my heart so profoundly, bringing happiness to my world. But whatever it was, all that mattered was: In that moment, being pulled toward a tour bus by Alex Gaskarth because he wanted to be alone with me, I felt invincible. And when he pulled me closer to drape his arm around me, rubbing his hands up and down my arms to warm them, I stopped breathing altogether.

He laughed shortly, a puff of smoke forming from his breath. “How can you live here? Is it this cold all the time?” I nodded, rendered speechless from the combination of my chattering teeth and the sensation his physical contact was causing. Yes, Wisconsin was notorious for being a walk-in freezer, but having lived there for nineteen years, I was usually able to function in the cold.

We finally reached the bus and Alex unlocked the door, swinging it open and then standing back to let me enter first. I took each step carefully until I reached the landing, and I took in my first ever experience in a real tour bus.

In the front portion, there was a wall lined with white leather seats (what was with these guys and white leather?), and on the other was a single seat, then a sink and cooler. Through a door I could see several curtained compartments and another door that was closed off from my view. Alex squeeze in front of me, taking my hand as he went. “All right, well, here we’ve got the sort of lounge area. Bathroom’s there,” he pointed to a door between to first two rooms. “Past that are our bunks, and back there is sort of…I dunno, an office? Living room?” He shrugged, pulling me down to one of the seats, “It is a room of some sort. Our acoustic guitars and teddy bears live back there.”

I nodded slowly, “Weird.”

“Endearingly so, I hope,” he said, eyes wide, like a small child.

“Endearingly so,” I affirmed.

He laughed and stood to go to the counter area, pulling a small panel aside and reaching in. His hand reappeared with two beers, tossing one to me which I caught and popped the top off of immediately. “Wow,” he said as I took the first drink, sitting back down, “You seem pretty accustom to drinking for a high school chick.”

I shrugged, “I live by myself, and a lot of my friends are twenty-one or older, so it’s just become a sort of pastime, I guess.”

“You live alone?”

“Mhm,” I nodded around another gulp of Bud Lite. “A…modest little house just a few blocks from school.” Again, I’d said more than I was willing to elaborate on, so I stood and looked around, “Can I see these guitars and teddy bears?” Though we’d only just met, Alex seemed incredibly empathetic, and followed by change of subject obediently.

He stood and put a hand on the centre of my back, “Sure, no problem. Straight ahead.” He led me through the far door, into a room that was very similar to the front lounge except for--you guessed it--the three acoustic guitars and a single teddy bear on the table in the middle of the room.

“Aw,” I brushed a hand lightly against his chest and went to pick up one of the guitars, “This must be really cozy for you guys, being able to just sit around and brainstorm music.” I plucked a few chords that I knew and smiled at him, “I envy that.”

He smirked and nodded toward the guitar, “You play?”

“Enough to help out with arrangements in my chorus class, but that’s it.” I set it down carefully and looked around; why was this so comfortable? I was in a strange place, with a person I didn’t know, but nothing about it felt the least bit strange.

He took a few steps closer, and our chests were almost touching. “So,” he smiled, “You sing.”

“I sing,” I confirmed.

“Sing for me.” His voice was almost a whisper and his breath was warm against my face. His lips were so close to mine and every nerve in my body was alight with the desire to throw myself at him and claim him as my own, if only for one night.

“Is that an order?” I asked, my voice equally quiet.

One of his hands trailed up my arm and over my collarbone, making my breath hitch, and then came up to brush a strand of hair out of my face. “A request. But I could make it an order, if you need it to be.” His hand cupped my jaw gently and tilted my face upward. His lips started to come down on mine and I lost my mind for a moment. This was me: Annette Luanne Vader, nineteen-year-old high school outcast, with plain red hair and plain hazel eyes and plain clothes. There was nothing special about me. So why was Alex Gaskarth giving me, specifically, this kind of attention? And why weren’t my usual morals kicking in?

Then he made contact, and I was kissing him back with all the passion he put out. His lips moved against mine with a sort of gentle intensity that had my mind reeling, sending sensation to every part of my body. And I just wanted to be closer. My hands gripped either side of his trademark black vest and pulled him against me, then snaked my arms around his neck, arching against him. In turn, he looped his own arms around my waist and held me in place, pressing against me harder still. I gasped at the rough contact and he seemed to view this as an opportunity, slipping his tongue over my lips and tangling it with mine. It was a beautiful feeling, being so completely lost in someone else, if only just physically.

But, then…it was just physical.

And that wasn’t me.

I pulled away abruptly, stumbling slightly and catching myself against the table. Alex was panting also, leaning back against the wall and covering his eyes with one hand. “I’m sorry,” he apologized sincerely, “I didn’t mean to do that. Despite the rumors, I’m really not this guy.”

“I know. I believe you,” I reassured him breathlessly. It was true, even though there was so much evidence to the contrary. “I just, you know,” I shrugged, “I’m not a mile marker for your Fall tour, so I can’t do this.” I laughed ruefully, “Though I wish I was like one of those girls in there, and didn’t even care about that.”

He shook his head and grinned crookedly, “If you were like one of those girls in there, Annette,” oh god, the sound of him saying my name made me want him even more, “You wouldn’t even be in the position to make that decision.”

“Really?” I was shocked.

“Really,” he told me firmly, sandwiching one of my hands between his and sitting down with me. “Now,” he got back to the previous subject, “About that song?”

“Uh.” Even though I’d been doing it all my life and was far from stage-shy, I had always been reserved about singing to a single person, even my family. But he had turned those puppy dog eyes on me again and I melted, clearing my throat and singing the first thing that came to my mind.

“Now I’m breathing your scent and your sound and your name
And the way that you whispered on hot summer days
I’m trying to get, I’m trying to get my feet underneath me
I’m trying to find, I’m trying to find some sense of reason
But no, oh no
‘Cause I can’t make a move when you’re still just too close
And I can’t start a life when I live with a ghost
And I can’t move on, and I can’t let it go
You came in without a ‘hello’”

I cut myself off after catching the focus in his eyes, like I was the only person in the world. Neither of us spoke, neither of us moved. I bit my lip; he was making me nervous.

“So,” I started slowly when the silence became too much for me, “What did you think?”

He seemed to snap out of whatever world he was in and leaned back against his seat, shrugging, “Not bad.”

“Not bad?”

“Nope.”

I sensed there was more that he wasn’t saying, so I prompted, “And…?”

He sighed, leaning forward again, “It was kind of…karaoke. Not bad but,” he shook his head, lips pressed together in a tight line, “Not something that I think could ever get you anywhere.”

I felt my mouth drop open; did he have any idea what he just said? Music was everything to me; it was the only thing I ever saw myself doing with my life. And he’d completely dismissed it, just like that. I was over. Finished. Finito. My future as I’d always planned it had come to a crashing, fiery ending before it even began. I was an untalented loser, as told from the lips of pop-punk sensation Alexander William Gaskarth.

I felt the tears well up in my eyes, but there was no way I was going to humiliate myself further by crying in front of him. No way. So I stood quickly and cleared my throat. “Um,” I said, trying my hardest to suppress the shakiness in my voice, “You know, I have to go now.” I started to walk past him.

He reached for me, “Annette, wait.”

But I avoided his contact, losing all want for him to touch me again. “No, I really have to go. It was nice meeting you.” I practically ran from the tour bus and around the venue until I was at the main parking lot. Most of the cars were gone now, so I was able to find mine rather quickly, which allowed me a safe shelter before I broke down, sobbing against my steering wheel.

This whole night had been so terribly misleading, there was only one thing I was completely sure of.

I hated Alex Gaskarth.