Band On The Run

You Don't Know What Love Is (You Just Do As You're Told)

There was no reason to hang around the bar any longer, Seth walked out after Nick and Ben, and I couldn't handle even the idea of looking either Will or Jake in the eye at the moment. There was embarrassment there. It wasn't the type to redden cheeks or cause laughter; it was the sort that set in deep and lingered along the blood stream; hot, slick and shameful.

Because I knew it was my fault. Nothing that had happened was because either Nick or Seth, I'd started it and everyone in the bar could see it. I'd caused the whole scene.

At the very least I hoped Mark would be happy by the onslaught we were bound to have.

The papers did always love a good fight when it came to Seth.

So I snuck out the back way, like I'd done so many times before, but this time it was done in silence. The alley way was wet and dark. All my memories of it were of stumbling laughter and shouting, none of this silent suffocation.

The whole drive back to the apartment, sat in the back of the cab, was spent in silence. But my mind was whirling. It didn't feel as if I'd ever had a drink now, stone cold sober as I kept seeing the scene playing out before my eyes. But I was practicing what I would say to Nick when I got home, thinking of how to play this out in a way that wouldn't lend to a fight or him leaving. I couldn't handle him leaving, not Nick. Everyone else left at one point or another, but not Nick. He was undyingly loyal, he wouldn't just leave.

I had to get the words right, get the apology just perfect so he would listen to what I had to say, and at least try to understand. He had to stay. There was no other option.

The elevator ride was spent with my heart beating wildly as I tried to control my breathing.

By the time I reached the door, key held in a shaking hand, I was worried I was about to hyperventilate. I gathered any dregs I had left of my wits and slipped the key in the lock with as still as hands as I could manage, and shoved the door open.

But it was dark, and I got no answer when I called out his name.

That was when the lingering started. I straightened the shoes up at the doorway, fitting them all neatly along the wall. Then I moved to the shoes in the closet. I even fussed about in living room, moving about picture frames and the vinyls on the shelves and fluffed pillows. It wasn't until I moved on to the kitchen that I knew I'd gone too far. That was not my domain. The only reason I went in the room was to pour coffee (Nick always seemed to have a fresh pot made) or maybe to get a beer. I was only going to mess things up in there.

Figuring I had to just get it over with, I pulled out my phone as I chewed worriedly on my bottom lip. It took me a while to work the courage up to press on Nick's contact number. And while I muttered calming words to myself, the dial tone rang, rang, and rang, until it went straight to his voicemail. I tried it again, but that time it went straight to voicemail. I never could understand the technology that was cell phones, but even I got that. With a sigh, I searched up Ben's number but it went straight to voicemail as well.

Point taken, then.

It was a weird feeling getting undressed to go to bed. The apartment felt like it was about to echo around me, and it made me wonder if I'd ever gone to bed on my own here. It had never felt like this at my old place. Sure it had been a bit cold and unwelcoming, but it had never really bothered me. Maybe I'd just gotten used to Nick filling the apartment with all that easy warmth, even if I was locked in a different room.

Feeling like I should be wearing a bit more than my habitual baggy concert tee for when he came back, I pulled on a pair of pyjama pants I almost never used. It felt important to be fully dressed if it came to a fight when he got here. I'd had too many fights half naked with Seth, and he was nasty and cruel at the best of times, but it was always worse without a full outfit. There was something far more vulnerable in that, like walking into a war with no sort of defense.