The Irony of Your Perfection (An Asking Alexandria Fan Fiction)

Chapter Two

My bed isn’t empty this morning. Danny is snoring lightly with his back facing me. He mustn’t have had any pot because if he had, he would be sleeping somewhere completely ridiculous. It’s become an intoxicated habit of his.

There’s a hollow ache inside my head; I groan. I realize that we’re in the RV, not in my house. I sit up in the bed and see the sleeping bodies of the boys strewn all over the couches and the floor. There’s a lingering scent of cigarettes. I’m cold and I crave the feeling of Joe’s threadbare red hoodie on my skin.

It’s mornings like these when I’m tempted to call him. I know I shouldn’t but it’s growing harder and harder to respect his decision without saying a word.

I feel a tap on the shoulder; it’s Danny. So as not to wake the others, we step over their sleeping bodies and go outside.

I’m not sure what time it is but it’s early. I’ve never been good at sleeping late. Danny lights a cigarette and takes a drag.

“We’re almost done the demo of Not the American Average,” says Danny, letting out a puff of smoke.

I nod. “That’s good.” Neither of us mentions that in order to finish it, they’ll have to find a new bass player.

“It’s too bad that bitch in the song moved out of York. She was good fun,” says Danny.

I raise an eyebrow. “Apparently.”

Danny grins. “You’ve got to admit, it’s pretty impressive that I fucked her six times and didn’t ever pick up on her name.”

“You’re more of a slut than she was,” I say.

“I prefer the term ’promiscuous,” he says, glancing at me cheekily as he stomps out his cigarette butt.

“Only big word you understand,” I mutter, and he pinches my arm.

I keep thinking of what would happen if Joe was still here. I can just imagine him coming out of the RV and wrapping his arms around my waist from behind or sliding his hands into my pockets and smiling at me from over my shoulder…

I push away the thoughts and manage a smile. “Any plans for tonight?” I ask.

Danny frowns. “You’re thinking about him,” he says, ignoring my question.

I look down at my feet and scuff the dirt with my shoe. “Guess so.”

“He’s a cunt,” says Danny. “Don’t worry about him.”

“It’s not that easy,” I say. “We dated for two years, Danny.”

“I’m shit at giving relationship advice, Azalea,” he says bluntly. “Take it or leave it, but I’ll just say what comes to mind.”

I shrug. “Fair enough. If I ever need advice about a one-night stand I’ll come to you, then.”

“Yeah, that somehow seems more appropriate,” says Danny.

“We’re out of energy drinks,” I say, because I don’t want to think about Joe right now.

Danny glances at me. “Go get dressed, then, and we’ll go to the store.”

I nod and go back into the RV as Danny lights up another cigarette. I brush out my hair, apply minimal makeup, throw on a sweatshirt and leggings and walk back out to Danny.

We don’t say much as we walk to the store, partly because it takes two minutes since the boys are practically living in the parking lot here. Sometimes they crash at my house but I make them stay in the RV when they’re drinking since they seem to break everything they touch.

“Monster?” asks Danny, and I nod. We take out three cases and wander around the store for a while.

We stop in the kid’s aisle because Danny sees a bicycle horn. We buy it along with the energy drinks because Danny insists that using the horn to wake up the boys will be ‘fucking priceless’.

As I’d expected, there’s no gig tonight. The boys haven’t managed to rope in a bass player yet and that means they’re in trouble.

Lying back on the couch, I fiddle with the sleeve of my hoodie. “I could always play bass,” I say.

Ben glances over at me skeptically but doesn’t say anything.

James shakes his head. “We need someone who’s got their own equipment.”

“I could probably do it if I tried,” says Cameron as he cracks into the Monsters.

“Then we’d need a rhythm guitarist all the same, mate,” says Danny, and Cam shrugs with a small smile.

“Joe taught me some chords,” I say, and the room falls silent. Silently I congratulate myself; they won’t dare make me talk about him more than I need to.

“Fine,” says Danny quietly. “You can try.”

“At least we’ve got lots of practice time,” says James.

“You say it as if it’s a fucking good thing, James. It’s not,” says Danny, who seems slightly irritated.

“I’m not stupid, Danny,” says James with a frown. “Just wanted to lighten the mood is all.”

Danny doesn’t answer James. He turns to me.

“Did Joe leave his bass with you?” he asks.

“He left his old one,” I say. “One of the strings is broken but it’s nothing too horrible.”

“The sound on that one’s good,” Ben acknowledges. Thank God he’s on my side.

Danny clasps his hands between his knees and stares at the floor of the RV.

“If we don’t have a real bassist by the time the next gig rolls around, you can play it,” he says. The rest of the guys nod in agreement.

“This isn’t permanent or anything,” Ben reminds me, and I shrug.

“I’m just trying to help,” I say.

Ben grunts. “We’ll see how that goes.”