What Happens in Vancouver...

Chapter 8: I'd Die For You

If you could see inside my heart
Then you would understand
I'd never mean to hurt you
Baby I'm not that kind of man

The four of you were sitting on rolling chairs in an office, at the police station. Richie's head had fallen on David's shoulder next to him, the glass of water in his hand threatening to fall at any moment. Jon was between you and the keyboardist, arms crossed, eyes darted on his shoes. You were not that anxious; just maybe about Doc's reaction when he'll get aware of this.

David put his hand on his stomach and grimaced: "I regret this so much."

Jon hummed: "Ha, regret." He turned to you: "Wanna talk about it?"

You blinked, speechless in front of his pettiness but quickly took back your composure: "Excuse me?"

The scene was pathetic: none of you was looking at each other, talking to the wall like you were angry at it. You didn't let him talk: "You are the one who got this idea, you are the one who talked to me like that while not meaning a thing!"

A second passed. He didn't say anything, what proved you well you were right. A painful feeling crossed your chest and you swallowed hardly.

He said in a high voice: "Well, you agreed too!"

"I never said I didn't, Jon, yes we were two in this, but there are things you said you could have avoided to if you didn't mean it!"

He scoffed, opening his mouth, closing it, then opening it again: "Well, hum, right, well you only said you had never heard one of our songs before!"

Your jaw dropped.

"And can I know how this is worse to say than what you did?"

"How come you have never listened to one of our songs?"

"Oh please Dave, it's not the moment."

"Right children."

The police officer entered the room and let a file drop on his desk.

He sighed deeply, seeming awfully used to this. David said: "Sir, we know we're not supposed to be drunk on the public highway, but we didn't notice the thing about the road works..."

Jon scoffed, on the tone of pettiness: "Oh come on, it's not important."

The officer lifted his gaze and gauged him.

"Not important? I don't think the workers would be glad to find steps and a bottle of vodka fossilized in concrete later in the morning." He nodded. "So, you couldn't be there."

Jon huffed and crossed his arms on his chest: "Well, yet we were."

David cocked an eyebrow and turned to him at his sudden unusual sharp tone, nearly making Richie slide off his shoulder.

"I get that, sir. But you weren't allowed to be there."

"Well, I think we've proven it's not true."

You heard David nudge at Jon to make him stop. The officer straightened, starting to lose patience.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe that if no one could be there, those workers should have put barriers?"

Jon had disproportionally shouted the end of the sentence and Richie woke up straight in his chair, blinking and clutching on his plastic goblet for dear life.

The officer squinted. "Okay. I was about to loosen it for you, you didn't seem really problematic and when we arrest foreign people, it's really annoying, administratively speaking."

You swore you felt Jon settle in his chair, but he kept his bitchy attitude. The officer carried on: "But I suddenly lost the envy to be nice. What about a pretty night in a cell?"

You came at the end of your chair and raised hands in a calming way: "Listen, Sir, I'm so sorry, we shouldn't have gotten there, it's-"

But he wouldn't hear a thing and two minutes later the four of you were in a cell with a passed-out man in a corner.

"Were you serious?"

Jon turned, knowing you were talking – more yelling – to him.

"Because of you we're going to spend the whole night in this fucking cell!"

He crossed his arms on his chest and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. David's gaze was alternating between both of you, and Richie didn't have a clue of what was happening, but his stomach kept him unphased with the situation.

Out of rage, you went to sit on the very end of the bench, back at the others, arms crossed. You were fuming, and hated your life right now so much you didn't stop repassing the moment where you had decided to come here in Vancouver in your head.

Oh, if you had known.

Hours passed, where you observed the other guy sleeping, and heard David and Jon's whispers; what made you even angrier at first. You had the feeling to be in a sandpit with the mean girls of the classroom talking shit about you in your back – because of course they were talking about you, what else were they speaking about?

At a moment, you acknowledged Richie was laying on the bench behind your back, his deep, low breathings of sleep somehow relaxing you a bit.

A familiar element in this mess.

Your eyelids had started to become heavy when a policeman arrived and cleared his throat. Your gaze was the first he met, and he said: "Someone paid your bail. You're free, but I wouldn't do this again if I were you."

The door opened and Doc McGhee entered the cell, not surprisingly looking pissed and angry. Before he could say anything, you got up and planted yourself in front of him.

"Doc, I'm leaving."

He cocked an eyebrow and opened his mouth, but you were quicker; "Yes, I have money of my own for that."

He closed it, and you took it as a good sign.

"Can I leave?"

He said through gritted teeth, more looking at the three behind than you: "Yes, seen that I paid the fees..."

You assumed he thought you were talking about leaving the station, but you didn't mean that. Without a word, you turned around and left, just in time before your tired nerves gave up and let the tears fall down your cheeks.