don't you go // lrh

/twelve/

/two ends of a spectrum/

/luke/

On the way to Texas I couldn't stop wondering whether or not Amara and I were spotted at the airport.

It became too much.

Every second that passed I was waiting and waiting for our management to yell at me over a girl. Ban me from using my social media and leaving the hotel or something.

I was too scared to check twitter on my own so I asked Michael to do it in the van on our way to the venue.

"Nope, you're good," he said scrolling through his phone, "Lucky bastard."

I nod, "Alright. Okay. Good."

I almost put my ear bud back in but I can feel Michael staring.

"Can I help you?"

"You guys gonna hang out again?" he asks.

I shrug, not sure if I'll have time in all honesty.

I told her we would, because I really want to.

And I'm not good at telling myself 'no' when I want something.

I mean my intentions with her were just one night. Fast, quick, easy, standard. But now, now I'm mindlessly looking for a flight for her at the end of the month, wanting to get it done just in case.

"You should, she's growing on me." he says.

As if it's no big deal.

I scrunch my eyebrows, "You guys have never even hung out though."

"We have. Actually. She's still cool to be around." Michael defends.

"When?"

"Luke, drop the jealous act."

"I'm not jealous." I defend, trying to keep my voice low.

"We all know you're just waiting it out 'til she lets you hit." Michael scoffs at me.

"That's none of your business." I cringe.

"Get on with it so you can cut her loose." He instructs.

I didn't know if the original intention still stands now that I've really spent time with her. But I'll never say that out loud over my dead body.

I plug my headphones in, to get my mind off it again, off how shitty it makes me feel.

We've still got ways to go before we arrive and now I'm stuck with my thoughts.

If this were a normal 'groupie' I would've kicked her out as soon as she told me she was expecting another one of my band mates.

But there's nothing normal about Amara.

I think if I knew that the first night I met her, I'd think twice about it all. I feel sort of, infected by it all.

We stayed up all night just talking. And the only people I do that with are my band.

The talking itself, the way she listens, it's better than any quick sex with any groupie I've ever been with.

I know it was impulsive inviting her to New York like that. I usually would never do that.

I just couldn't risk never seeing her again, that's all. And now I know why.

I like being around her. She makes me laugh. Doesn't make me feel weird about the whole fame thing. Doesn't make it a thing at all. I forget I'm famous around her. It's an unexplainable burden she releases me from.