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

Chapter Three

It’s weird to be getting involved with the band. To be honest, I haven’t known any of them for a very long time. Joe went to school with a couple of the guys and that’s how they started the band, but I was only introduced to them a few times. Apparently someone named Ryan used to do synths for them, but I never met him. Either way, I never associated much with Joe’s friends. I wasn’t into all of the partying they did; in fact, I didn’t really like it. I always thought it was extremely gross when they’d get hookers or have one-night stands with strippers, and their liking for being drunk didn’t impress me. I suppose I’ve begun to adapt, though. I don’t like it, but I accept it.

I’m getting off track; I guess I might as well tell my story from the beginning.

***

Joe glances over at me as he strums a chord on his bass. “Wanna come sit down for a second?” he asks.

I look up from the book I’m reading. “Sure, why?”

“Just come,” he says, so I do. I sit down beside him and he puts down his bass.

“The band is going to start touring,” he says, adjusting his body so that he can look at me as he talks. “Ben found us an RV.”

I smile a bittersweet smile. “That’s great, Joe,” I say quietly. “When will you guys be back?”

I look down as Joe takes my hands in his. A small smile dances across his face.

“You’re coming with us,” he says.

I stare at him. “Joe,” I say, “You can’t be serious.”

 “But I am,” he says, and he pulls me onto his lap. I lean back against him and inhale his warm scent.

“Mum will never allow it,” I say.

“It’s just around the UK,” he insists. “We won’t be going far.”

I sigh. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The corners of Joe’s mouth turn slightly upward and he closes the gap between us. Our lips meet and a happy chill runs down my spine. Joe’s blue eyes twinkle as he pulls away and wraps his arms around my waist. I lean into him and he plants a soft kiss on the top of my head.

“It’ll go by quickly,” he says, resting his chin on my shoulder.

I grin. “I think I can handle it.”

Three days later we load onto the RV and I meet the band for probably the third time.

A week after the tour starts, the band hasn’t played any gigs yet. Something is wrong. One night I hear angry whispers as I’m trying to sleep and then he’s gone without a trace, leaving me in an RV with four boys I barely know in an unfamiliar city.

The boys cancel their gigs and we go back to York. The day after I get home, mum leaves on a business trip and I spend more and more time with the band. The rest, I suppose, is history.

***

I sit in on my bed with the bass across my lap. The house is eerily quiet. I examine the string that Cameron replaced; it looks good as new. I run my fingers absently across the frets.

Suddenly, my phone rings. To my surprise, when I pick up I recognize Danny’s voice.

“Hey, Az,” he says.

“Hi,” I say uneasily, unsure of his reason for calling.

“Can I come over?” asks Danny. “Ben and I had a row and I really don’t feel like wandering around town until he cools down.”