Apologies

Smoke danced in the air, circling the small space in the back of the bus. It could be considered a sort of den, a hanging space for when the guys had not already had enough time cramped together in a small space. Today it was only John on the bus, the rest of the band members out exploring the small city of Prescott, Arizona a small pitstop on the way through central Arizona until they reached Phoenix once more. The seven months on tour flew by all too fast in John's mind. While the rest of them were giddy to rush back home to friends and family, John resented the stagnant feeling he felt whenever he was back home. The ash from the cigarette collected on the end, too heavy to hold itself up and fell, splashing against the warm leather of the couch. John muttered a shit as he brushed the ash onto the floor. It broke apart, seemingly dissolving into the stained rug. He let out a sigh. John had become what some might call, "a fiend" in recent years. He looked for a buzz any way he could find it. Cigarettes were among the more tame sources he'd accustomed himself with.

"You know better." Her voice was a whisper, a breeze, if he had been paying more attention to the scene on the television, he would have missed it. His fingers scraped against the leather of the couch, pulling at the seams holding the cushions together. He never got used to it. Sometimes it scared him, but it was more comfort than anything else. He'd learned to live in this ever detached state, seeming to bridge the gap between life and death just enough to never forget what her voice sounded like. He accepted that it wasn't normal to hear his dead girlfriend's voice, but John hadn't craved normality in ages.

The voice started shortly after her death. He'd saunter from room to room, praying that through the next door he'd meet Death and be released from the torment he felt. As he packed bowl after bowl, it became more clear. Her whispers. Her messages. His darling girl wasn't gone after all. When he sat still enough, it was hers who pushed him to move. To shower. To eat more than his weight in Gold fish. He'd been more dramatic in the first months. Now in his zombie state, he could rehash his pain without ever having to outwardly voice anything. Her whispers were his secret. This was easier for all involved parties.

The door to the bus pulled open and a dramatic intake of air let John know that his solitude was soiled.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Garrett’s voice boomed as he hopped inside the bus, undoubtably hit with a cloud of smoke. John closed his eyes tightly, convincing himself that if he just focused a second longer he'd catch a glimpse of her around him.

“John I swear to sweet baby Jesus, if you keep smoking inside this bus, I will have no choice but to scissor kick you in the throat.” Garrett scolded, his voice thinly veiled with humor, as he plucked the freshly lit cigarette from John’s fingers. He was.. such a mother sometimes. John let out a grunt, something between a laugh and sigh. Garrett opened a window, flicking the cigarette towards the asphalt while simultaneously letting the fresh desert air push through the cramped space. John coughed. The scent was almost too pure, sickly sweet and served as a reminder of his lung capacity. He felt guilty, like he didn't deserve to breathe in something that made him feel so alive.

Garrett, being himself, took over the den-like area and shuffled through the channels at a speed that suggested he was not even paying attention. Watching the channels colors flip so sporadically dizzied John, who let out another half grunt response as he shifted his weight onto his feet. He was suddenly overcome by the urge to be alone once again. He craned his neck, realizing how still he'd been while sitting on the couch. Better outside than forced to talk about it. John thought, immediately feeling guilty.

It wasn't that John didn't appreciate his friends caring for his well-being. It was just how present they were. John had long before determined that he was an introvert, and he would deal with things as they came. Alice's death hadn't been something to deal with. She was a part of him, forever. Their constant pushes for therapy, blind dates, and vacations had seriously irked him. Had he wanted to be done with this part in his life, he would have been. He knew that he owed it to his girl to never forget what a complete piece of sh-

“Yo, where are you even going?" Garrett called over a slasher-film-style scream. "It's the best part!"

"Need some air." John called, as he stalked out of the room. His thoughts had irritated him, plucking that incessant need to be alone from his subconscious. He questioned if Garrett had even heard, but due to the fact that he received no response, he opened the door to the bus and slammed it behind him as his feet hit the pavement.

His legs carried him through the small town of Prescott. He walked at a slow pace, shuffling along as he took in the scenery around him.The large trees towered into the sky, and quaint buildings lined the streets in an orderly fashion. His eyes observing the scenery peacefully, his pace slowing even further. Peace. He didn't seek it outwardly, but in places so small where he felt so alone he couldn't help but relish in the feeling.

"DoIknowyou?" A hand flicked through his line of vision, stopping him mid-stride. To his left was a petite brunette, speaking as if she had just downed 8 Pixie Sticks.
"I don't... think so." His words came out cooly. The whole mastery of the walking dead act had made him a smooth speaker. If people paid more attention, they could notice it wasn't a cool demeanor but a complete lack of self. But, such is life, and John didn't allow people close enough to make an attempt to pay attention.

"You look extremely familiar." She said, a slight edge to her voice, as she inquisitively studied his features. He was very sure she wouldn't recognize him, even if they had met previously. He had taken to not shaving as regularly in recent months, and had a perpetual 5 o'clock shadow lining his jaw.

John took to noticing her. Her hair was long, and parted down the middle. She was remotely average, pale with large brown eyes. She looked young, maybe 21 or 22, and fresh-faced as if she just finished a brisk walk. The sweat on her forehead and cheeks was a light sheen, making her skin glow. John swallowed, realizing his noticing was turning into a different kind. His vision shifted to her shoes, waiting for her inquisition to finish.

"Oh my god. You're the kid who kissed my sister and genuinely believed I was going to blackmail you!" And like that, this strange, sweaty girl let out a deep belly laugh, closing her eyes tight and really feeling it in her bones. It was the type of laugh you couldn't help but join in, the lines blurring between the comedy and the nature of the laugh. She looked so happy. John shifted his feet, refusing to let his guard down as the memory of the situation finally came to fruition.

Suddenly, a flush covered his face and he scratched the back of his head as she laughed. He remembered it all now too. Becky Kilepsy, his first kiss.
It all happened in her living room before the start of 8th grade year. She had invited him over on AIM, sending multiple "<3" and ";)". The hormones, they just could not resist. He rode his bike over, and stood outside her front door for 10 minutes, thinking of a proper greeting.
"Hey sexy" was too 40 year old.
"Hey beautiful" was too.. feeling-y. Icky. Cooty.
"Hey, I haven't kissed anyone before" was too honest.
Finally, he knocked. Then, as if she'd been standing there the whole time, Becky opened the door, wearing pink shorts and a black tank top.

Sa-woon.

John about died right there, forgetting any script he'd previously planned in his head. She invited him in, leading him to the living room where without a word more, she told him to kiss her. The kiss was innocent. A peck. Truly nothing more. But her lipgloss tasted like cinnamon. The mix of adrenaline gave way to a new enthusiasm for cinnamon.

Yet the perfect moment was ruined when Becky's 6th grade sister burst into the room and proclaimed she was going to tell her parents. John had bargained and asked if there was anything in the entire world they could make her remain silent. And the girl wanted cookies. John made them. And that is that.

John's face grew hot at the memory, and he found himself letting out a chuckle in response.

"Your name is like, hm, something with a 'J' right? Joseph? or Jack? John! John O'Galliclan?"
"It's John O'Callaghan, but I'm glad to see you remember me. I really should get going now.." He decided the situation was getting too personal. Suddenly the defense was up. He felt now more than ever he needed to be alone.
"Nice to see you again John, I'm Alexandria but you probably just remember me as the Cock Block." She introduced herself, grinning.

Why are you still talking to her, John?

"I really should be goin-" He began, obeying her voice, but was cut off by a shuffling of feet and a shove against his shoulder. John tumbled slightly to the left but caught himself as Pat broke through and encased Alexandria in a large hug.

"Lex!" He screeched. Her reply was muffled against his chest as she swung and locked her arms around him. Finally after the embrace seemed to thoroughly suffocate Alexandria, she was released and they smiled at one another in disbelief.

"What are you doing here?" She excitedly said, her grin growing into an even wider smile, one that showed every single one of her teeth. She was so giddy.

"Well the whole band thing! This is John, our lead singer. We just finished tour." Pat beamed and John shifted uncomfortably. Did Pat have a thing for this girl or something? Why was he so overtly excited to see her.

"Oh, John and I go way back! And I can't believe I forgot about your band! Wow, that's so good for you guys. I'm still stuck in school. " Alexandria replied, miming shooting a gun at her head with her fingers. Go way back? Hardly. John thought, his face twisting up in discomfort. He was taken back by her ability to speak so freely of people, brutal honesty made John's skin crawl.
"You live up here now?" Pat said, looking at their surroundings as he spoke.
"I'm helping my Grandma move back down here, turns out downtown Phoenix was just not ready for her energy, but I'm headed back home tomorrow. We should catch up, I remember in 9th grade we-" Alexandria began, launching into another story. John had had enough of their reunion.

He began to stalk back towards the bus replaying the past few minutes to himself as he set his pace. The girl, Alexandria, was strange. Her feeling incredibly comfortable made John incredibly uncomfortable.
He did not like something about her. Perhaps multiple somethings. He didn't like her.
And he decided he would not continue thinking about her.
Yet, even as he entered the bus and went to his bunk to smoke another cigarette, Garrett being long gone, he couldn't stop imagining the way her lips pulled back to reveal all her teeth when she smiled and her laugh--

Stop.

Shivers ran up his spine and he realized that he had to draw a line. Clearly it made more than just himself uncomfortable. He closed his eyes, and willed his mind to either sleep or shut the fuck up. As most things go, neither came easy. Instead he focused intensely on the sounds of his friends lives go on around the bus, as they boarded one by one, rehashing their time in the little town, the craziness of tour and laughing as friends do, making the once silent area feel crammed full of life. Eventually, one by one they fell asleep. The bus began to move as well, towards the route that would take them home. In the silence and rocking motion, John found some peace. And when he finally did sleep, her blurred image spun in his head.

No one could ever make him forget her. She spun, too fast to make out her features, but John was sure it was her, happy again. She laughed, entertained by her spins, so he sat back, watching her live. When she finally stopped and rested back against his arms, he began to realize that this girl's long brown hair was unfamiliar, more even he wasn't looking into the same blue eyes he seemed to memorize. He suddenly felt a pit in his stomach as darkness crept at the edges of the dream, shaking the image and releasing a sense of terror. Oh, no. John's consciousness began to realize, for this wasn't right at all. A nightmare. He woke up in a late night sweat, nearly hitting himself on the low roof above his head.

That was the first night he dreamed of Alexandria Kilepsy.