Autumn Tears And Winter Leaves
You Blame You, I'll Blame Me And We'll Never Figur
The rain dotted patterns across the van window as it plunged down the glass. Absently, Lawen pressed her finger against one chosen raindrop and tracked its path to the bottom, creating a steam trail as she did. Numb thoughts dripped through her mind as the world trailed past her window in a disjointed blur. It was so hard to believe that if you rewound time to just a few hours ago, she was entrenched on stage, her vision skewered by the passion scorching her veins. Now she was encaged in the band's van, uncertain about everything, insecurities tracing their fanged venom across her pulse.
The car was fringed by an anxious silence. No arguments cascaded from the front. Not even Pasco purged the air with an unappropriate joke. The only break from the muted tone of the group was the monotonous humming of tires against the road. And its persistent grating didn't help at easing the tension icing the atmosphere.
Frustrated with the silence, Conall pressed forcefully against his seat. "You think the right choice was made?" he quizzed the others in a stressed tone.
Lawen released the sigh that she had jailed inside her desperately. "I don't know," she answered in a muttered voice. "I don't know."
"Fuck no!" Pasco retorted in an angered tone not suited to his disposition. "Second place? We deserve so much better than second place!"
"It could be worse, I guess." Torben offered as a sliver of hope to a disconcerted group.
"Could be worse?" Pasco echoed. "What's worse than losing the only chance of success that we'll ever going to get? We played our arses off up there. And it still wasn't good enough."
"Pasco..." Lawen started, leaning across her seat. Entwining her fingers around his wrist, she eased him gently towards her, coiling her arms around his concrete shoulders.
"It's so not fair." Pasco persisted, his protest muted against Lawen's shirt. Smoothing Pasco's static hair, Lawen whispered, "Second place is better than nothing."
But, subconsciously, she knew that no one believed her.
Conall's bedroom light was still on as Lawen escaped from the shadowed monotony of her room. She was seeking diversions from the reverberating insecurities that she'd unleashed into it, the salt-streaked tears she'd beaded upon her pillow and the persistent, pin-pricked fact that she'd let her band down. Just when they needed her the most. And she was using the deepest, moon-soaked hours of the night to hunt for comfort amongst the dyed hallways of her house. Whether it was that numbing burn induced from a shot of tequila or some late-night anaesthetic television programme. She just needed a desperate diversion.
Capturing the inviting glow from beneath Conall's bedroom door, Lawen found just that. She didn't even knock. Just nudged his door open tentatively, allowing her enough space to slip her head into the room to look in. Sprawled in subjugated silence across his bed, Conall pressed his head into his pillow, forming a frustrated furrow across the middle. He didn't even look up as his bed slightly dipped with added weight. He just rolled his body back to allow Lawen a little more space.
"I'm sorry," Lawen murmured through his aggression.
Twisting his head slightly, Conall frowned at Lawen. "For what?"
"For letting everyone down," Lawen replied. "I was so damn insistent on that song. And it wasn't the right one. It was nowhere near the right one."
Flipping onto his back violently, Conall glanced up at Lawen. "It wasn't the song, Lawen." Sighing, he added, "It was us. It was everything. It's so damn frustrating!"
Shuffling further onto the bed, Lawen rested a hand against Conall's cheek. "It's not the end, darling."
"But it sure as hell feels like it," Conall retorted. "What are we going to do now? That was our only hope out of here. And it's gone."
In the lifetime that Lawen had known Conall, she had never once seen him bleed tears. Even after his beloved dog died after ten long years of inseperable companionship. Not even when he lost his first true love to destiny. He had never parted once with tears. But that night, under the moonlit stresses of failure, Lawen lay alongside Conall, clutching him close as he bled every raw emotion onto her shoulder.
The car was fringed by an anxious silence. No arguments cascaded from the front. Not even Pasco purged the air with an unappropriate joke. The only break from the muted tone of the group was the monotonous humming of tires against the road. And its persistent grating didn't help at easing the tension icing the atmosphere.
Frustrated with the silence, Conall pressed forcefully against his seat. "You think the right choice was made?" he quizzed the others in a stressed tone.
Lawen released the sigh that she had jailed inside her desperately. "I don't know," she answered in a muttered voice. "I don't know."
"Fuck no!" Pasco retorted in an angered tone not suited to his disposition. "Second place? We deserve so much better than second place!"
"It could be worse, I guess." Torben offered as a sliver of hope to a disconcerted group.
"Could be worse?" Pasco echoed. "What's worse than losing the only chance of success that we'll ever going to get? We played our arses off up there. And it still wasn't good enough."
"Pasco..." Lawen started, leaning across her seat. Entwining her fingers around his wrist, she eased him gently towards her, coiling her arms around his concrete shoulders.
"It's so not fair." Pasco persisted, his protest muted against Lawen's shirt. Smoothing Pasco's static hair, Lawen whispered, "Second place is better than nothing."
But, subconsciously, she knew that no one believed her.
Conall's bedroom light was still on as Lawen escaped from the shadowed monotony of her room. She was seeking diversions from the reverberating insecurities that she'd unleashed into it, the salt-streaked tears she'd beaded upon her pillow and the persistent, pin-pricked fact that she'd let her band down. Just when they needed her the most. And she was using the deepest, moon-soaked hours of the night to hunt for comfort amongst the dyed hallways of her house. Whether it was that numbing burn induced from a shot of tequila or some late-night anaesthetic television programme. She just needed a desperate diversion.
Capturing the inviting glow from beneath Conall's bedroom door, Lawen found just that. She didn't even knock. Just nudged his door open tentatively, allowing her enough space to slip her head into the room to look in. Sprawled in subjugated silence across his bed, Conall pressed his head into his pillow, forming a frustrated furrow across the middle. He didn't even look up as his bed slightly dipped with added weight. He just rolled his body back to allow Lawen a little more space.
"I'm sorry," Lawen murmured through his aggression.
Twisting his head slightly, Conall frowned at Lawen. "For what?"
"For letting everyone down," Lawen replied. "I was so damn insistent on that song. And it wasn't the right one. It was nowhere near the right one."
Flipping onto his back violently, Conall glanced up at Lawen. "It wasn't the song, Lawen." Sighing, he added, "It was us. It was everything. It's so damn frustrating!"
Shuffling further onto the bed, Lawen rested a hand against Conall's cheek. "It's not the end, darling."
"But it sure as hell feels like it," Conall retorted. "What are we going to do now? That was our only hope out of here. And it's gone."
In the lifetime that Lawen had known Conall, she had never once seen him bleed tears. Even after his beloved dog died after ten long years of inseperable companionship. Not even when he lost his first true love to destiny. He had never parted once with tears. But that night, under the moonlit stresses of failure, Lawen lay alongside Conall, clutching him close as he bled every raw emotion onto her shoulder.