--* THE NAME OF THE GAME

[ainsley nevaeh brookelle]

Just as a drug addict seeks drugs, I seek for approval. Saying no feels as though I’m turning my back against one of my band mates. I’m eager to curry the favor of my friends -- I even bend over backward to accommodate to their requests. I’m so invested in outside approval that I set my own wants and needs aside. It’s almost impossible for me to say no, even when saying yes will wreck havoc on my own best-laid plans. The only way to feel valuable is to comply with others’ demands, always giving the others what they need, what they want. I strive to please because I am fearful that if I don’t, people won’t love me. So I respond to the perceived threat by becoming obsessed with meeting others’ needs. The way I expend so much energy meeting others’ needs creates a blockade. I’m not even sure what I want with my life anymore. It makes me sick. It’s like I’m a ticking time - bomb, waiting for that digital clock to finally strike zero. I’m almost afraid for when it will touch the base of that number. What will happen? “People, please. People, please.” It’s a never-ending pattern. It’s like the remaining flame of a fire, struggling to hold on to the only thing it’s ever known, too much of a coward to just let go and accept change. It was leading me to the brink of exhaustion.

I could feel the tremors work their way through my veins, forcing my body into that of a cold sweat. I tried to hide the fact that I could no longer keep my fingers straight. They took up shaking in a reckless manner, keeping me from completing tasks that proved to be effortless just weeks before. I began to cake foundation unto my ghostly white skin, camouflaging the bags that had began to form under my weary eyes. There were times my mind would lack the capability to process a clear thought. Often, you would find me staring blankly at the wall, or the ceiling, trying to recall an event that had happened just seconds before. I groaned to myself as the lids of my eyes jerked downward once again, and I was forced to part the thin pieces of skin with about as much effort as was expendable. My body was literally telling me to go to sleep, seeing as I hadn't slept for hours; days even. The lack of non-rest was kicking me harshly in the butt at the current moment, and all I was sorely tempted to do was crawl into the soft confines of my bunk, wrap my body up with the fleece texture of my comforter, and drift off into a deep slumber. But alas to no avail, that option was not a very good one at the moment. No. Cashman was integrating himself among my senses; consuming my thoughts and forcing my body to stay awake and alert.

I wondered where he was, what he was doing at this particular moment in time. It had taken some serious convincing, but I had finally persuaded him to let me stay behind today. I had lied to him. I had told him I needed to spend some extra time perfecting my sound. In reality, I knew I didn’t have the stamina to keep up with him. All of the energy in which my body was capable of producing was drained. The lack of sleep was not only causing me to lose was little focus I had left, but the amount of strength and willpower in my limbs was fading as well. The lack of energy one accumulates from sleeping was not running through my system at the moment, and was forcing my body to do odd things. Already a fever was warming on my forehead, and the feeling of nausea was strong in my gut. I was beginning to fall ill do to my rather warped sense of priorities, and sick was not something I wanted to be. More importantly, I couldn’t afford to be sick We had worked so hard to seize the open slot in the Take Off Your Pants And Jackets Tour. I couldn’t let down the band like that. I just couldn’t. Instead, I took to denying the fact that I was sick. I didn’t want Cashman to see me like this.

My tiny fingers outstretched, grasping tightly at the neck my guitar. I figured that if I took to playing a few chords, I would tucker out, my body obliging to let down it’s guard and actually rest. Ha! If anything, I’d most likely work myself up over missing a note or scold myself for not playing something right. I pulled the wooden substance of the guitar toward me; cradling it to my chest. The long length of my legs curled upward slightly, forming the perfect place mat for the guitar to rest safely upon. Slowly I lowered the item to delicately lay across my lap; one arm slung across the top; fingers placed adamantly over the strings in a prepared position. My other hand hung cradled the neck of the guitar, allowing me to stroke the top strings. The top rested against my shoulder for support, and I shifted for a more comfortable position. When everything was placed where it was meant to be, I caressed a few notes from the stiff instrument, relishing the musical notes. My fingers tripped over the last chord of the song that was slowly forming inside my head; murdering my piece of work mercilessly. A groaning sigh of frustration left my mouth, my body tensing with the growing irritation. By all means, the song was an easy one to learn. The fact of the matter was that it was new material, and my fingers weren’t quite used to the different positions they were forced in. I tried again, this time focusing solely on the matters at hand. Once again, my lips parting, allowing a soothing tone to reach the ears of the empty tour bus. Although I wasn’t a singer for the band, I was thankful the tone of my voice was pleasant to the human ears. “Try to find out what makes you tick as I lie down here, sore and sick. Do you like that? Do you like that?”

[/b] My voice faded as the clear cut of a cough sliced through the air, silencing my lyrics and forcing my attention to be drawn from my guitar and vocals. No. No. No.[/blockquote][/size][/center]

[lucas cashman october]

[/SIZE][/font]
I'VE GOT A PICTURE OF YOU AND ME AND
it's taped to the mirror so you can see.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Grah. Seriously? The fact that it was five in the freaking morning and I already heard people moving around was seriously pissing me off. If there was one thing that could kill my happy go lucky personality, it was lack of sleep. So I flipped my pillow over my head and wished that I would have just gotten a hotel room like I had wanted to. But of course, I ended up in the bus because I didn't like being alone. After about a half hour of continuous banging I squirmed in my bunk to peer toward the front, and sure enough, Annie and Molly were busy being idiots and busting out Halo. Sitting up and swinging my feet out of bed, my basketball shorts tugging at me in an irritating manner as I adjusted them, I shuffled toward the refrigerator and grabbed a mini bottle of Sunny D, gave them a “what the fuck” look, and went back to bed. They were so stupid sometimes. Did they not realize that we had a show today? Before I was fully back under my blanket, I was already hearing the pregame back and forth banter. All that I could hope for was that I would be long passed out before they actually started playing, because they liked to yell at their people and scream when they got shot at. I just couldn’t get over the fact that they had just passed out three hours ago and were already back to being disturbances of the peace. Oh well. Must be a girl thing. But that was what I found ironic, seeing that I rarely joined in on these activities dubbed guydom. I just watched and laughed hysterically as they failed.

After catching another whole three hours of sleep, I rolled over, and found myself on the tile floor. “Fuck my life,

[/color]” I mumbled as I wiggled to untangle my legs from the sheet, the fabric making angry red marks on my bare skin. I would have bet that if anyone was out side when I hit the floor and was desperately trying to free myself, they probably thought someone was doing the nasty in there. But no, it was just me being annoyingly stupid and inexperienced, just like usual. Shhh, no one knows about my lack of sexual activity though. Everyone, including my best friend in the whole damn world, and girlfriend for that matter, is under the impression that I’m a whore, just a very picky one. Which is technically the same thing as never having sex, right? Not exactly. But whatever gets me through the day is alright with me. I’ll continue lying to myself if you continue to believe what I pretend to be. Okay? Okay. Moving on.

Now that I had freed myself and gotten to my feet, I walked to the window where the shades were down, rubbing my head while I did so. I pushed one of the blinds down and peered out, not seeing much activity. If people were up they were probably eating or hanging out. Food just didn’t sound very good to me yet. So I turned, got myself another Sunny D, and went to sit down on the couch. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I realized that I wasn’t alone yet after seeing Annie, and I prayed to God in my mind that my package wasn’t completely visible through my shorts, which it probably was. They were so old, but they were my favorite thing to sleep with and one of the only feelings of home that I still had with me. After laughing at me for making so much noise and apologizing for being loud earlier, she claimed that she wanted to perfect some new stuff they were working on lately before their set, so I shrugged, happy to oblige to some time of hanging out alone. Walking back to my bunk and grabbing some jeans and a shirt, I changed swiftly, chugged my Sunny D, and left her to do whatever it was that she was going to do.

I’m a very guarded person, to be completely honest, and no one really knows my whole life story. Now, Annie was no exception to this, and I’m sure that she doesn’t think I could tell you every little thing about her, regardless of the fact that we’d been close friends for years now. There’s just some things that a person will never relinquish about themselves, and given that fact, it’s not right for anyone to judge me from being far from open about my home life. The truth of the matter is that my eleven year old sister needs me to get anywhere in life. If I don’t get somewhere with my music, she won’t have the money for what she needs. Yeah, she’s perfectly healthy, she’s not retarded or anything. She just won’t be able to reach her potential without money – money that I’m the only one in her life with the opportunity to make. So by God, I was focusing on that goal. That goal to make every penny I could get my hands on, no matter how I managed to get it. I would lie, cheat, whatever it took to give that girl the chance that I didn’t have. The only reason I’m anyone is because I have a good voice and am very good with guitars. I started when I was about six, and only because my uncle played well and I showed early interest in music. I think taking me to Uncle Jed a few times a week to practice was the only good thing my parents ever did for me.

So really, people shouldn’t hound me so much about how focused I am on paychecks, how I won’t spend unless it’s necessary. That was just how it had always been at my house. But of course, no one really knows that. My living situation seemed about the same as everyone else’s in our circle of friends, and I never let on that to pay for school lunches I had to work with my father at his landscaping business, or bum money with the promise of paying them back and hoping that they forgot about it. But most days I just didn’t eat, claiming that I wasn’t hungry or whatever excuse I managed to blurt out as I stared at the less than five star cafeteria food. I knew that I was bad off when I was mesmerized by the aroma of school sloppy joes. However, that was irrelevant now, because I was out of that hell hole, and I would be going back only for my sister. And that would be happening the second that we swung back through Florida. It sucked though that the tour would be half over by the time that happened. But it was better than nothing, right? And hell, if everything went right with our money situation, I’d be flying her out to Dallas on our off day. But I wasn’t too excited for that, since with my luck, our money problem wouldn’t turn out well enough for that.

I made my way back to the tour bus, the hot California sun starting to pinch at my skin, threatening my tan already. Stupid sun. My pale skin never managed to stay tan long before I completely burnt, and I was not looking forward to an entire summer of peeling and burning in a vicious cycle. I reached the door and paused for a second, sound barely filtering through the door, but it was just loud enough to make me hesitate. Must have been Annie, because I had just passed Molly down socializing with the other bands. I heard the tell tale sound of an off chord, and opened the door quietly, hoping that she’d be too wrapped up to notice the light clicks of the door opening and closing, my oddly silent footfalls as I located her on the couch, facing away from me, and seemingly still in her own little world. I crept up upon her, not intending to scare her at all. Her voice broke off into a cough, and I couldn’t help but feel a pull of curiosity. It hadn’t appeared that she was sleeping much lately, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was up with her. The one thing that irritated me was how insanely self conscious she was. That and how she smoked like a fiend. As she recovered from her forced distraction, I closed the rest of the space between us, praying that I was still working unnoticed as I leaned down to rest my head on her shoulder, kissing her neck once softly as my right hand slipped over hers, my fingers forcing hers to the correct position on the guitar frets. “You were close,[/color]” I murmured softly.
[/size][/blockquote]
- - - - - - - - - - - - -

POST STATUS: finished, obviously.
TEMPLAT CREDIT: romantaholic
GRAPHIC CREDIT: me omgz. D<
LYRICS CREDIT: farewell.
COSTARRING: ainsley nevaeh brookelle.
TAKING PLACE: the tour bus, like k?
WORD COUNT: one five two two.
[/ul][/center]

[ainsley nevaeh brookelle]

The fact that I could not master this song was really beginning to piss me off. I mean, seriously, Ainsley? Come on! I’ve played more toilsome, demanding songs than this. In fact, this song was rather simple. The notes, the pitches, the rhythm, the chorus, the chords, the melody -- everything was engraved in my mind. They penetrated my brain, swarming about in a cluster of sorts. I had to straighten out those thoughts, uncover the most uncomplicated way to go about transferring those ideas from my brain to my fingers and unto the silver guitar. I could picture each and every fret my fingers were supposed to be, but the minute that they would graze over the tuned strings, I would somehow fuck it up. Whether that be strumming the wrong chords, hitting a note at the incorrect moment, or quickening a certain part of the song, it didn’t matter. I just couldn’t get it right. No matter what I did, what tactics I tried, what state of mind I was in, I just couldn’t play the song correctly.

My lips parted slightly, a sigh of frustration escaping from the dark depths of my throat. Why couldn’t I play the goddamn song? In a way, I felt as though I had been defeated. I, Ainsley Nevaeh Brookelle, had been defeated by that of a mere song. How pathetic did that sound? I had half a mind to just toss the dang instrument out the window. The corners of my mouth swiveled upward, the bottoms of my pearly whites hardly noticeable. That particular thought had brought a smile to my lips. A small smile, but a smile none-the-less. I realize that I was being overdramatic about the situation in which I found myself in, that in time, I would master the troublesome piece of music, that all I needed to do was spend a bit of extra time working on the placement of my fingers and the correct timing, but at this peculiar moment in time, I figured that it was all right for me to be overdramatic every once in awhile.

I wondered why I had chosen this particular guitar to work with. It wasn’t as though I didn’t have any more expensive, sophisticated guitars. The one I am using is so old. As a matter of fact, it was the first guitar I could get my eager little hands on. I saved any sort of income that had came my way, locking it away in a small glass jar. I’m not going to lie, it had taken me two years and a shitload of hard work for me to reach the purchase price, but I finally did it. The very next day, I trudged my stimulated frame to the guitar shop, the jar full of money in hand. The clerk greeted me with a smile, gracing me with a thumbs up before wandering into the backroom. I set the jar of money on the glass counter, waiting impatiently for the male to return with the guitar. I could remember how ecstatic I felt when I finally got my hands on the guitar. My hands. My guitar had been my only escape, the only remedy that could cure the severe collection of loneliness I had acquired over my past. Now, the guitar only brought back memories -- and not good ones.

I attempted to swallow the wad of spit that had accumulated in the back of my throat, my mind too far gone into my thoughts to notice the gentle squeak of the door or the presence of the finely sculpted male slithering inside. My fingers grew slack, resting against the tuned strings in a docile manner. I lowered my gaze, my pale blue pools staring intently at the body of the guitar. My lips parted, allowing my quieted voice to echo in the atmosphere. “If I jus-”

[/color] I didn’t have a chance to finish my sentence. A lock of the hair on his head brushed against the velvet skin on my neck, sending a tickling sensation down my spine. I squirmed inwardly, the squeak that I had desperately tried to mask had finally worked it’s way from the back of my throat, piercing the ears of the other in the room. Yes, that pitiful squeak was my excuse for a giggle. I hated my laugh, I really did.

I could feel the warmth of a pair of lips caressing my skin, and, all at once, I knew the other had to be Lucas Cashman October. I shuddered, taking pleasure in the action he had committed. “Mmm,” I muttered automatically, tilting my head so that he would had further access to my neck. Alas to no avail, he had pulled away, leaving me begging for more. Damn him! My neck was one of the more sensitive areas of my body. Had he not figured that out? Or, was this simply his way of teasing me? Either way, I craved for more. The moment pressure was applied to my hand, my blue pools snapped open, wearily watching as the boy forced my fingers into another chord. I cocked my head to the side, studying him questionably. Why the heck was he placing my fingers in another position? I hadn’t been playing the entire song wrong, had I? Oh, God. If I had been, I would have been so embarrassed.

“You were close,” His whispered tone was enough to align goosebumps upon my skin. I now understood that I had been playing the song incorrectly. A faint blush caressed my cheeks, and I turned away from him, embarrassed that I hadn’t played the song correctly in front of him. I could feel the frustration boiling underneath my skin, and I frowned in an irritated manner. “Close isn’t good enough.”[/b] I mumbled to myself, hoping to God himself that he couldn’t hear me. I was being too hard on myself. I was being unfair. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t afford to be making these mistakes, not now. We had a show tonight! What if I fucked up then? What if I ruined our band’s chance tonight? How would they ever forgive me? How could I ever forgive myself?

Temporarily, two thin pieces of flesh skidded over my iced eyes, my entire body growing limp. How was I going to conjure up enough energy to play a good show tonight when I could barely stay awake just sitting here? Moments passed before I finally tore them open, my vision blurred from the sudden change of focus. With difficulty, I set the guitar to the side, as if I were gracing the boy with an invitation to the couch. I wanted for him to wrap his arms around me. I wanted to snuggle in his chest. I wanted more than anything to tell him what was bothering me, even if he may find it not such a big deal. I tugged on his hand, informing him in the only way I saw fit that I wanted him to join me on the couch. For a moment, I hesitated, contemplating on whether or not I should really let on to him one of my fears. “Cash, are - are you nervous? For - For tonight?” I avoided his gaze, ashamed that I was letting my nerves get the best of me.

I wasn’t sure if he would catch on, and I didn’t mind either way. The fact of the matter was that I was nervous, and I was losing sleep over this. I tightened my grip upon his flesh, rejoicing in the warmth his hand brought to my own. My hands were almost always cold. When inquired about it, I told them that I had poor circulation. Ha! If only they knew the real truth. I wondered how disappointed in me Cash would be then. I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to please him. I wanted to see that little smile that would light up my whole world. Informing him off all of my problems just didn’t seem like the correct way of going about that, did it? I wanted a cigarette. Whirling around, I shoved my hand down the side of the couch. I knew I’d be giving away my secret hiding place, but I didn’t care. I needed something to relieve my stress, and having a smoke would certainly make me feel better. When I came up empty-handed, I felt dumbfounded. Where in the hell were they? I had made sure to stash them there. I had even double checked. “Where are they..”[/b] I whispered to myself.[/center][/blockquote][/size]

[lucas cashman october]

[/SIZE][/font]
I'VE GOT A PICTURE OF YOU AND ME AND
it's taped to the mirror so you can see.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Guitar was normally as easy as breathing for me. My entire childhood, all I did was play. Constantly, as if I just couldn’t keep myself away, which in reality I couldn’t. School was the only thing that could break my focus, my curiosity about why certain string combinations made the melodies they did, or why the strings had only made my fingers bleed twice in my life time. Now, that doesn’t mean I never played hard. I guess my finger skin was just super tough and string resistant. I caught on to things pretty quickly, and I think the only thing that ever really tripped me up was trying to sing and play at the same time. The way my brain is wired, it’s almost impossible for me to focus on two things like that. But now, that obviously isn’t a problem anymore. Or at least not as much. Rhythm requires much less concentration on the guitarist’s part, so that way I can make sure I’m singing the right words. But that was why Annie was so important to our band. I always listened in for her though, just incase she slipped so I could catch her notes and mine. I had a gift for running parts together so it sounded as close to a two part as it could possibly be.

Even when I did mess up, which yeah, I’m no god and I did screw up on occasion, I never really got frustrated too much with it. Maybe it was just because patience was beaten into my brain almost my entire life. The fact that Mom couldn’t keep a job more than a few months, that I’ve seen Dad twice in my whole life, that Allie needed me like a parent her whole life, might have caused me to see things differently, to really know how to prioritize. Though, I don’t blame everything that ever went wrong with me on my lack of parental stability. If anything, that helped me in the long run. I mean, I’m eighteen, on my own, and perfectly mature enough to handle it. I’m even trying to figure out how to adopt my sister so maybe, just maybe, she can experience some of the things that I never could. That said, my bitch fits were few and far between, at least verbally. In my mind, I was the most unapproachable bastard that ever walked the earth. I was just too soft spoken to say anything too harsh unless you really, really pissed me off. Which also wasn’t too hard to do. But I was more of the sit in silence type than the throw things and beat people up kind, if that makes any sense at all.

I’m a very different type of personality. Where my self parenting kicks in, I’m very well rounded, and able to see a bad idea from about twenty miles off. I tend to be the type that’s there when you need something, but never really puts himself first. It might be hard to see that, since I act like an ass most of the time, but that’s just to keep people out. I don’t want people to know about me, or my family. Especially now that we have something all our own going, something that could really fix so many things for me and Allie. And besides, if fans knew, what would they say? Would they not like me any more because in reality I was poor? Or because I didn’t have a loving family, or because I was pretty much a father myself? The last thing I wanted was to embarrass myself – or my lackluster family – in that way. I would never want to put myself in the situation where if someone asked me about my mom I wouldn’t even be able to tell you where she was living. She was a roamer, the type who would be there passed out on the kitchen floor in the morning, but by the time you got home, she was gone, and you wouldn’t see her for days, or even weeks at a time. We had a system for these little fits as I called them, me and Allie did. We looked out for each other. She was so young, but so capable. Maybe that was due to the fact that we’d been dealing with this flighty mother situation since she was six.

I could still remember my first guitar. That little beat up Fender that my uncle had in his possession for years before me. The body was already worn and slightly scratched up, but the way my fingers curved around the frets always felt right, even as a little kid playing a full size. I could hardly see around it, but it obviously got the job done. It had taken me a lot of work and garage sales of too small things or old toys belonging to both me and Allie, but I had done it. I even started to teach her a thing or two before I left. God I hope that she’s okay. I pushed the thought away as I opened the door as stealthy as possible, my Converse hardly making a noise as I padded up to Annie. I still couldn’t get used to the title of “girlfriend”. I went through girls like I did food – noisily and sloppily. Though I’m not nearly as bad about bouncing from woman to woman, since there’s just not enough time for that anymore. I liked Annie a lot, I really did, and she was one of my best friends. But I hated that she smoked. I absolutely hated it. She was killing herself slowly, and I’m sure that the alcoholism that she claims she doesn’t have isn’t helping her case at all, either. She won’t listen to me though. She never did. I’d tried so many tactics, but none of them seemed to break her of the habits so strongly reminding me of my inadequate mother.

Her lips parted, a few words slipping out as they were abruptly cut off, and I knew that she was now aware of my presence. Probably my hair – it always fell in the way and screwed me out of the secrecy thing. Oh well. As long as it looked hot I could deal with the setbacks. She squirmed a bit, her body brushing against mine with the movement, and I felt goose bumps prickling at my arms. For a virgin, I was oddly in touch with my sexual side. I probably knew more about sex than most prostitutes did – the only difference was that I had never actually experienced it for myself. It wasn’t that no one was interested, because believe me, they were, it was just that none of them seemed right. I wanted to look the girl in the eyes and know that she was the one that I was supposed to give myself to. The one thing that I could never have back, that one special part of me. I was determined not to waste it on the wrong person, and every time someone asked about it, I just lied, not necessarily ashamed, just not wanting to deal with people’s crap. I didn’t want to be the butt of every experience joke. Hell, not even Annie knew that I was pure. She was under the impression that I’d slept with more girls than I can count on both my hands and my feet. So let’s just keep it that way, alright?

I knew for a fact that Annie hated her laugh, but I didn’t care. I thought it was cute. It was unlike any other I had heard, and the melodic twinge it had to it always alerted me in the way that I could always identify her voice in the crowd. I felt the shudder that pushed through her body, and the noise of pleasure I had been searching for, and a smile stretched past my lips, satisfaction washing over me because I had done something right. Her neck lolled lightly to the opposite side, and I quit, knowing how sensitive her skin – especially her neck – was. I could be oh so mean when I wanted to be. I felt her body stiffen a bit, her head moving to see what I was doing. I hadn’t meant to call her out by any means, I just wanted her to see where she’d messed up. I estimated that she’d just spaced and was one fret farther down than she should have been, and just didn’t notice. But either way, I regretted my actions almost immediately, knowing that I’d see the light pink flare on her skin in embarrassment. She was close though, I wouldn’t lie to her about that. She was just a tad bit off, and me being a perfectionist couldn’t let it slide.

Luckily enough for her, I barely caught what she was mumbling about, and I for once chose not to comment. Usually, I wouldn’t hesitate to let her in on my opinions of what she said and did, but this time I couldn’t bring myself to. My blunt and straightforward attitude greatly contradicted her own, and I was getting used to really taking that into perspective when I said certain things. Now, I probably should have been more accustomed to this type of thing since she had been a friend for as long as I could remember, but I was the same way with everyone, now with only one exception. The girlfriend was always my one contradiction to everything I was about. Or at least the ones that I thought had a shot at sticking around for more than an hour. Annie was one of said prospects, at least for the moment. I noticed her being waver a bit, and arched my neck to see her face, noticing that now her eyes were closed. Why the fuck was she so damn overtired? Oh, I know, because she was playing Halo at five in the fucking morning. Insanity, I tell you.

Those pretty eyes that I liked to lose myself in popped open then, and she repositioned her instrument, as if making room for me. To be honest, I had only come back for some temporary air conditioning and then was going to go back out and watch some people play. Watching those with more experience seemed like the best way to pick up stage presence tricks. God, I could be such a nerd, always worrying about the technicalities of things and whatnot. I probably drove people infuckingsane. Annie grabbed my hand, and my own hazel eyes rested upon hers wrapped up in mine for a second. I just sort of stared at it for a moment, as if I couldn’t decide if I should like it or not. My emotions were shot to hell, that much I knew for certain, due to my constant freaking out about things that teenagers shouldn’t be concerned with. Such as making sure a kid got to school on time and that her grades, and mine, stayed up as high as they were going to be. In school, when I could focus, I was actually pretty smart. She spoke, and her words pulled me back into the present, back away from those walls that I had stared at for so many days, just sitting and staring, and trying not to fall completely apart.

“Nah, not really. I mean, I’m as nervous as anyone would be, but we’re good and we’ve played everything a shit ton of times,

[/color]” I said with a shrug, my nonchalant expression of words probably not the best to use with her. I knew that she must be pretty damn stressed if she actually voiced it aloud, and then finally, everything with the lack of sleep clicked in my mind. That would explain so much. Her gaze avoided my own, and I let a sigh escape my lips as I finally yielded to her simple request and sat next to her, my left arm sliding around her shoulders and pulling her toward me. She gripped a bit harder on my hand, and I peered down at her curiously for a moment, and watched in growing irritation as her hand fluttered to the crack in the couch cushions where in a pillow war I had discovered and promptly disposed of. “Where are they…” she said, probably talking more to herself than me, but this didn’t stop me from sticking in my answer anyway.

I raised an eyebrow, looking at her as if I was trying to decipher what she was talking about. After I felt as though I had achieved the proper expression of confusion, I dropped it into that of comprehension and said, “Ohhhh![/color]” Putting a smile on my face, not one of pride or a smirk, just a normal smile, I said, “Your cigarettes are currently in the septic tank for the bus, if you’re still that desperate for them.[/color]” My voice, however didn’t contain nearly as much distain as it normally did. I hated what she was doing to herself. And the taste of cigarettes just grossed me out, to be completely up front. When I was younger, I would always swipe my mother’s cigarettes, break them in half, and flush them away down the toilet. Now, that had worked for a while, until she discovered that she in fact hadn’t smoked them all but they were pilfered, and in result to being conscious for her health I was promptly grounded. It was my turn to piss Annie off on the subject, and I honestly didn’t give a shit if it pissed her off. God, aren’t I a douche?
[/size][/blockquote]
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POST STATUS: finished, obviously.
TEMPLAT CREDIT: romantaholic
GRAPHIC CREDIT: me omgz. D<
LYRICS CREDIT: farewell.
COSTARRING: ainsley nevaeh brookelle.
TAKING PLACE: the tour bus, like k?
WORD COUNT: two three six zero.
[/ul][/center]