Demons |¤| Lashton

02: Blood Rush

Luke

July // Winter

I knew there was something off about him the moment he showed up at his first band practice back in March. Michael invited him, and I kind of hated Michael at that time, but we needed a drummer so I caved.

He was not what I was expecting.

He rang Michael's doorbell and I answered. The first thing I noticed was his shirt--of course it was his shirt, how could it not be? His shirt was a gross shade of purple. He had these weird shorts on too and I just wanted to tell him he was at the wrong house.

Michael saved his ass. He had cycled several kilometres to get to Michael's house and he was all sweaty. It was a sight. He just had to make me feel bad for him. And Michael just had to come see who was standing at the door.

At least he could play the drums.

I warmed up to him a little. He was funny at times, and despite being the oldest, sometimes he was the most childish.

But there's always been something that's lurked in the back of my mind, something that makes me doubt him.

I feel like that something is surfacing. He's started to become visibly nervous whenever we are together. No matter if it's all of us or two of us. Less conversational, dull humor. He's hiding something, and I think he's hiding something from me specifically. His eyes flit away if I look at him, and he looks to the other guys instead, although he's generally anxious around all of us. I think he only does that with me. His drumming posture is getting shitty too, like he wants to be smaller. Issues all over the place. He's trying to hide something from us, but I have never seen so much of him before.

I brought it up to Michael after he left, and Calum was relieved to join the conversation; it's bothering all of us at this point. There's something wrong with him. We can run through all the possibilities but we have no answers. 

I really honestly think it has something to do with me. Hell. He probably thinks something's wrong with me too. Maybe he's picked up on my uncertainty. I have to sit and think if there's something about myself that I missed. I don't think I've done anything wrong, but I'm becoming less and less sure of myself.

October // Spring

These past couple of practices have been a little more than hellish. He's been using Michael and Calum as visual obstacles, but he's watching me still. His form peeks out from behind them, and sometimes I catch the slightest glimpse of his eyes--and he always happens to be looking at me at that moment. I've been ignoring his antics, but I can't help but feel...self-conscious? I'm being targeted, essentially, and I don't know why or what for. I'm becoming an alien in my own home and in my own body. Practice is hardly practice. I don't think we'll be going anywhere like this. When I leave the room, I swear I can feel his eyes follow me. Ashton is a dead animal I dragged into the house. I can kick him right back out if I want.

 The more I think about it, though, the angrier I get. He's destined to ruin what the rest of us had going before him. I am in no way obligated to tolerate his behavior. He's a guest in my home and in my life. I guess I've settled with that thought, and it's started showing. I'm snappier with him, and the rush of blood that accompanies my outbursts has started giving me headaches. My whole body is filled with a burning sensation when he makes me angry. I don't remember the last time I've been so angry that that's happened. Sometimes I don't say anything at all, but I still feel a wave of anger wash over me. Ashton is literally going to make me sick.

I asked Calum to talk to him. I can't do it myself.

----

The couch in the living room is my current refuge where I can remain immobilized and pretend I'm invisible. I have school tomorrow but I think I would rather die than endure another monotonous day filled with mild inconveniences and general discomfort. It's not hard; I've done this every single day of my life. I guess "less is more" is really hitting me now. Another thing. Dad slammed one of the doors so hard today he damaged the frame. That triggered the burning sensation in my body too. The heat rose into my throat and crept into my mouth then. I sat for a bit, just burning, thinking much of nothing.

It's getting dark now. I've been on the couch a while. I look at the clock on the side table. A vision of Ashton's teeth flashes in my mind like an intrusive thought and some sound of discomfort impulsively escapes my mouth before I can process it. I don't linger on it, I just head to my room before any more of him tries to materialize.

I've thrown my phone under my dresser in my room, and only a rare buzz reminds me it's still there. I don't care who it is because I won't pick it up anyway. We're supposed to have band practice tomorrow after school but they'll get the hint when I'm not in class. They better.

I go to brush my teeth in the bathroom, hoping the cool mint taste of the toothpaste will counter the burning in my mouth. It doesn't work, of course. But fingers crossed for world's shittiest placebo effect. I spit it out and fill my mouth with the cool water from the faucet. Then I'm left to stare at my own reflection in the mirror. Water slowly drips down my chin. I'm so tired but I shouldn't sleep...