over and over - l.h.

Chapter 5: Of All Things I'm Claustraphobic.

Today was the first day of tour.

The youth of today listen to some... suggestive music. It almost makes me hate the spawn of Satan who created guitar solos. But besides the headache inducing music, today was a success. Although stressful I did eventually come across one boy who seemed a bit interested... I just had to give him a little nudge.

But aside from the single success I was expecting much more than just one boy. Not that I'm self-centered and think I need more attention, but back in the eighties, and I'm speaking from some slimy experiences, there were a lot of rock lords looking for one night stands. Now, as I went from one parked bus to another I was either a) being turned away by security or b) getting a nasty-ass metal door slammed in my face. I admire their virtuous ways, and applaud them for showing such self-control, but I need to get out of here damnit.

It wasn't until the after party that I ran into someone who showed... some interest. It took me two hours to crawl through velvet ropes and dance past security, but I was finally able to get into the club full of strobe lights, electronic music, and air that smelled like regret and vomit. Ah, sweet sanity, where did you go? I'm not going to lie; sometimes I look back on sock-hops and miss dancing around to the beat of Elvis blaring through a jukebox. But what's past is past, and now I need to shimmy my way through the crowd of highly intoxicated 20-somethings and find me a honey. Ugh, I hate when I show my age. Find me a honey? Who says that anymore?

I made my way towards the bar to buy myself the most expensive, fruity, pink drink they have to offer. I decided to sit next to some guy in a leather jacket who was leaning over the bar; he had two empty glasses beside him and he was downing a third one. I could hardly make out his eyes through the seizure-inducing strobe light dancing along his face, as well as his mop of long curly hair.

"Miss, your drink?" the bar tender questioned, sliding a large pink margarita glass to me that was overflowing in bubbly, foamy pink liquid. I don't know what the hell it is foaming over the rim of the glass, but it tastes like cotton candy.

Curly hair turned his seat slightly and looked down at me. God he was tall, even sitting down. He flashed me this huge cheeky smile, teeth and all, and I couldn't help but smile back.

"Hello," he said with an incredibly thick Australian accent, "my name's Ashton. If you don't mind me asking, what the hell is in your drink?"

He giggled at himself and blushed a bit, which made me giggle too. I looked down at my feet, preparing to put on a show, then looked up again and flashed him the best smile I could ever offer, the flirtiest giggle I could muster, and in the most adorable, swoon-worthy voice I could pull together, I said: "I haven't got a clue."

This seemed to work. I addressed how many drinks he's seemed to have downed, and he explained that it was just water. He was a great gentleman and complimented my hair, my outfit (which was a black completely sequined low-cut top with an even lower back, plus a hot pink bandeau and some shorts with my only sneakers: beat up black converses), and my sense of music. I feel so horrible that I lied about everything because he is such a sweet boy. I felt even worse for what I was about to do. He ordered one Jack Daniels' and I knew for a fact, he wouldn't take me home with him unless he was crazy drunk. I promised myself I'd never do this, but I have to survive. I'll go to church three times a week instead of one, I'll visit my no-good bitch of a mother's grave and leave flowers, I'll do anything that will help me forgive myself for what I'm about to do.

Just when he wasn't looking I whipped out my flask that was filled to the brim with Sake, and I poured it in his glass. In case you didn't know, Sake (pronounced Sa-kee), makes you really, really drunk. James used to drink it and I swear he was out of his mind when he did, not remembering a thing when he woke up: just a slightly bruised up me. I felt like I was going to throw up, but this had to work - I was desperate. He took one sip and cringed.

"This is the worst whiskey I've had in my life." And he downed the rest just like he did with the water. I didn't pour anymore into any of his drinks; I'd never forgive myself if I did. But when he was finally drunk enough, he whispered in my ear an offer I was ecstatic to hear. It almost made the pain in my stomach go away.

We pranced stealthy to his bus, giggling and kissing all the way, until we finally landed onto his bunk. It wasn't soft, but it wasn't uncomfortable, and this wasn't going to be fun. I took a deep breath and went with it.

Let's just say I had no choice to get over my claustrophobia.

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Fortunately this was a long one. Unfortunately, it is unedited.

You should know the way I portray some of the boys, isn't the way they'd normally act as far as I'm aware, and I don't want to offend anybody.

I hope you're enjoying it (:

And I lied about meeting Luke this chapter, but... you'll be seeing a lot of him next chapter (I pink swear this time) (;