by Luana Ferraz
I turn around again, trying to escape the disturbing scene in front of me, but he’s there again. He’s dancing with a different girl, running his hands down her body. She does the same, glancing at me sideways while she does so. I want to shout that I don’t care, but no voice comes out.
I turn my back to them, but there he is again. Twerking. Humping. Sticking his tongue down someone’s throat.
I shut my eyes tight, cursing him. When I open them again, I’m sitting at the piano. I look around—I’m on stage, in front of a whole crowd. Everyone is looking at me. And I don’t know what to do. I can’t play. I forgot how. Someone puts their hands on my shoulder and I startle awake.
I almost hit my head on the bunk ceiling, a little disoriented by the strange dreams. For fuck’s sake, I grumble in thought. Pete was right, I have to stop thinking about him.
I hear the bus door open and close. We’re parked. My phone tells me it’s almost 9 in the morning. I’m not sure if we’ve arrived in Cardiff or are still halfway there. I debate getting up as my body aches from all the twisting and turning of the night, but then I hear someone say my name in the backroom.
“Keep it down!” someone hushes the voice. I can’t tell who it is.
“Relax, she’s asleep,” the voice that said my name argues.
“She won’t be if you keep saying her name.” Now I recognize Todd’s mocking tone.
“Becky, Becky, Becky!” the first voice repeats, in moaning. My heart races. I’m nauseous. I turn around and move closer to the edge of the bunk, trying to hear them more clearly.
“You’re disgusting,” a third person says, and I’m almost sure it’s Tristan.
“Come on! Don’t tell me you wouldn’t tap that?” Tap that? I dig my fingers into the mattress, resisting the urge to get down and fly to his throat.
“Shut up, Paul!” Tristan’s voice rises up a notch. Paul. The drum tech. Ugh. He’s a dead man.
“Oh, right, I forgot. Pete is more of your type,” he says and starts to laugh. My heart starts beating in reverse.
“Shut the fuck up!” Tristan talks again and I hear some hustling.
“Hey, now,” Todd interrupts again.
“Relax, I’m just joking with you,” the dead man says.
“You know I don’t like it,” Tristan hisses.
The next words are said too low for me to listen. I’m utterly disgusted. Though I should have known something like this would happen, sooner or later. What would be the odds that all these males would be decent humans?
I take a deep breath, trying to decide what to do. There’s no way I’ll be able to keep it inside. I shouldn’t be able to keep it inside. But what should I do? Do this qualify as harassment? Dammit. I need to talk to Pete.
I’m in the process of texting him when I hear a laugh and Paul’s voice, loud and clear again.
“Whatever, that leaves more Becky for me,” he says. I can hear him moaning again. My rage peaks.
I can’t take it. Sorry, Pete.
I jump down my bunk, not even caring I’m only wearing knickers and a t-shirt. It’ll add for dramatic effect at the very least.
The laughter stops as soon as they have a glimpse of my disheveled hair and livid face. I take two steps towards them, locking eyes with Paul. I can tell he’s already shitting himself before I even open my mouth, which only makes me angrier. Coward.
“If I ever hear your voice again,” I pause, taking a deep breath and raising one finger. “I will fucking kill you.”
I keep my voice as low as I can manage. Menacing is one of very few things I’m good at.
I can’t see the other two, but I can tell their mouths are gaping open in shock. I can feel Paul debating whether I’m serious or not—looking like a psychopath has its advantages.
I hold his gaze until he decides it’s better to believe me and nods. Then I glare at Todd.
“I’m sorry,” he’s quick to say. “This will never happen again.”
“It better not,” I add.
“What is going on?” I hear Pete’s voice behind me and my strength immediately starts to crumble. Not because it makes me weak, but because it makes me safe. His voice reminds me I can be vulnerable, which is not what I want right now.
So I turn around, a familiar burn stinging my eyes. I fish for my pants in my bunk. I put them on in front of them. Then I grab my phone and finally turn around, trying to not look directly at Pete. And only then I see everyone else is up and watching what is going on.
My eyes fall on Neil, who takes two steps forward. His jaw is set and his expression is dark.
“I meant it,” I manage to tell him.
He just nods. And then I run, already feeling hot tears streaming down my face.
***
I step outside to find we’re still parked in the middle of nowhere. I decide this is good, it means there’ll be no one around to recognize me or anyone else on the bus.
We’re at a rest stop. I walk into the mall-sized convenience store with the purpose of a murderer. The bell chimes, but the guy behind the counter doesn’t even look up. Good.
The store is otherwise empty, which is also good. I grab hold of a cart and start walking up and down the aisles, shoving everything I can into it with the maximum strength my arms allow. I avoid the bottles, even though I’m in the mood of breaking something, because I know myself—if I start, nothing will be able to stop me. And it will only make things worse.
I’m in the third row when I hear the entrance bell ring again. I turn around, looking for Pete’s jet-black hair behind the shelves, but finding light brown curls—it’s not Pete. I turn back around as fast as I can when I see Tristan walking into the aisle. I’m still crying, and I hate myself. I hate Pete. Why is it not him? Why would he let someone else come after me?
“Pete asked me to tell you he’ll be joining us in five minutes,” he says, pausing behind me. He’s seen I’m crying, that’s why he won’t walk around to face me.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him,” I decide to give him what he wants at once.
“What?” he sounds confused, but I don’t turn around to check.
“What I heard,” I explain. “I won’t tell him.”
“Oh,” he says, and then silence. He only talks again when I restart walking and shoving things into the cart. “Actually, I was wondering…” He sounds hopeful and it kind of breaks my heart. I stop again, drying my face and turning around.
“He has a girlfriend,” I inform and watch as he deflates.
“Of course he does,” he smiles shyly and starts to examine something on the shelf. “A serious girlfriend?”
“I’m afraid so,” I take whatever he’s looking at and throw it in the cart.
“Do you think he’ll change when he finds out?” He turns back to me. “Will he stop hanging out with me?”
“I doubt it,” I smile at his juvenile concern. “Although maybe he will be more careful not to break your heart.”
“That’ll only make things harder for me.” He blushes a little and chuckles.
“I know. He’s too adorable.” I offer some sympathy.
“How did you manage?” he asks, and when I give him a confused look, he adds, “Not falling for him?”
“Well, we were raised as siblings, so that would be weird.” I can’t even count how many times I’ve repeated this sentence. But this time, for some reason, I add, “And I don’t deserve him. I’d ruin him. I ruin everyone. I’d never do that to him.”
I don’t know why I say that. I turn around before I can gauge Tristan’s reaction and start to walk again. But I don’t want to throw things into the cart anymore. The rage is gone. The tears are gone. I’m empty.
Tristan walks by my side, staring at the pile of garbage I gathered.
“You remind me of Tyler, sometimes,” he says casually, quickly adding, “Please, don’t take offense on that.”
“I can’t make any promises,” I joke as images of him twerking flash in my mi
nd.
“I wish I was as close with him as you are with Pete,” he sighs, looking away as we take a turn to enter another aisle.
“Well, maybe Pete could give you some tips.” I wink when he looks at me and he smiles again. “I’m pretty sure he has a very detailed manual of how to deal with me.”
We walk in silence along the remaining aisles. Tristan adds some things to the cart, and I wonder if he’s planning to actually buy them, since I wasn’t.
“I’m sorry, by the way,” he says after a while. “For all… that.”
I don’t know what to say. I mean, I know what I want to say: your brother is trash and where the fuck did you find this Paul character? I don’t, though. I’m just relieved that at least one of them isn’t a complete lost cause.
More than five minutes go by until we finally hear the entrance bell again. Pete finds us and points at the cart with a curious look.
“Anger management,” I say, and he nods slowly.
“Come on, breakfast is on me,” Tristan offers, pushing the cart towards the cashier.
“I’m not going to buy those!” I try to stop him.
“I am,” he gives me that wide, full-of-teeth grin and doesn’t accept my protests.
“We’ll wait outside,” Pete announces, pulling me by the hand.
As soon as we step out, I blurt, “I’m fine.”
“Okay,” he nods, not entirely believing me. “But, you know, if you want to—”
“I’m not going to give up,” I interrupt him. “Not now, when I finally started having fun.”
“Okay,” he nods again, still frowning. “But I was going to say that if you really want to murder him, I’ll help you get rid of the body.”
His delivery is so intense that I have to look around to make sure no one is within listening range. Then I laugh.
“I wouldn’t expect anything different from you,” I say, and he pulls me into a hug. “How much of it did you hear?”
“Not much,” I feel him shrug. “But Todd kind of told us what happened.”
“Everything?” I ask, pulling away to see his face. “Including…” I glance at the shop door.
“What about him?” he asks, the frown back on his face.
Shit. I just told Tristan I wouldn’t tell Pete. And here I am, on the verge of telling Pete. I bite my lower lip, unsure of how to proceed. It’s already too late to make something up. Not that he would believe me, anyway.
“I can’t tell you,” I say at last.
“What?” he gasps in fake shock. “You tell me everything!”
“Yes, but this isn’t about me,” I explain.
His joking expression changes as he glances at the shop door again. The curiosity and doubt give way to certainty. He even nods a little, almost imperceptible.
“You know,” I accuse him.
“Know what?” he asks bewildered, confirming my suspicions.
“Pete!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” he argues. “I can’t read your mind, so unless you tell me with words what you’re implying, I can neither confirm or deny knowing about anything.”
“Tristan has a crush on you,” I spell it out. I can tell he didn’t expect me to do it. But his prolonged silence tells me I was right—he knew. “Pete!”
“Okay, okay, I kind of suspected,” he confesses.
“And when were you planning to tell me?” I cross my arms.
“Never?” He scrunches up his nose.
“Pete!” I try to punch him, but he’s faster than me and dodges my fist.
“What? I just didn’t want you…” he pauses, clearly choosing his words. “… assuming things.”
“Why would I assume things?” I narrow my eyes.
“Because we’re hanging out a lot.”
“I wouldn’t assume anything,” I say offended. He must know me better than that. Unless… “Unless there’s reason to assume.”
“There’s none,” he says loudly. A little too loudly.
“Pete…” I take one step towards him.
“Seriously, now.” He regains his composure. “I have a girlfriend.”
“A girlfriend that’s been quite absent,” I think out loud. The hurt look he gives me makes everything click together—his unusual silences, his jittery nerves, his avoidance of me. “You’re fighting.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mutters, annoyed.
“Clearly,” I say offended. “Not with me, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with Tristan.”
“Yeah, playing videogames!” he argues.
“Right,” I snort.
“He distracts me,” he sighs. “I don’t really think about Linds and how stupid I was when I’m around him.”
I study him, not quite sure I believe this reasoning. But I know that if there’s any more to it, he’ll just blurt it out if I hold my tongue. That’s his way of dealing with uncomfortable silences—sharing all his thoughts, unfiltered.
“He also has a killer smile,” he adds after a minute, as I knew he would.
“Oh my God…”
“It’s a fact,” he argues, blushing a little. “He does. Not even you can deny it.”
“Yeah, well… I can’t,” I admit. It is a killer smile, what can I say?
We stand there, just staring at each other for a while. Then I walk over and hug him by the waist. He hugs me back, resting his head on top of mine. I hate it when he tries to keep me out. He thinks he’s protecting me when, in reality, he’s just hurting me. And himself.
On the other hand, though, there’s nothing I could really do to help. I’m not the most suitable person to be giving out relationship advice.
“Are you really okay?” he asks softly. I hate this, too. I hate how he’s always worried about me.
“I’ll be fine,” I answer because no, I’m not okay. I don’t think I’m ever okay. But I also can’t lie to him.
“I love you, Becks.”
“I know.”
Our moment is interrupted by Tristan stepping out of the store with a dozen of bags. Pete rushes to help him out and… he smiles. Pete shoots me a look. I roll my eyes, but laugh. Maybe I need someone to distract me, too. God knows I’d love a few moments outside my own head.
***
When we’re finally back in the bus, Neil asks to talk to me alone. I can see some of the guys in the back room. Some are nowhere to be seen.
He demands to know what happened—apparently Todd and Paul didn’t give him details. Obviously, they wouldn’t. So I tell him, but only the part that involves me.
“What would you like me to do?” he asks.
I don’t know. I don’t know what he means. What can he do?
“Do you want him gone?” he asks after a while, which surprises me a little bit.
I actually would love him gone, but then I start to think of the implications. What would it mean for me and Pete? How would this impact the rest of our tour? What good having the drum tech gone would actually make?
I chew on my thumb nail as I think. I replay the whole thing in my mind and slowly start to convince myself it wasn’t that serious. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t even talk to me. I wasn’t supposed to hear what he said. Of course, none of it invalidates my right to be mad. But let’s be real for a second—if I have him punished, I’ll quickly become the villain. I’m still the only girl around trying to make it in a male-dominated industry. Maybe showing a little mercy now will demonstrate I have enough of a thick skin to deal with this type of situation.
“No,” I say, then. “But on one condition—he can’t talk to me.”
“Consider it done,” Neil nods once, and then leaves the bus.
I sit there alone for a while, debating whether it was the right decision. Christ, how I miss having someone to just tell me what to do. How I miss having someone to point me in the right direction. How I miss my dad.
I really need to find something to distract me, fast.
Neil comes back with the missing boys and Paul walks past me without a second glance. Good, I think. But as I hear them preparing to play videogame in the back of the bus, I decide that’s not enough. I’m not gonna make things easy for him. So, I get up and join them, making a point of sitting across the asshole and glaring. After a few minutes, he and Todd leave for the kitchen to play cards.
“Chicken shit,” I snort. I feel better, although I’m surprisingly deeply disappointed in Todd. Who knew that he would turn out to be the jerk brother?
“He can’t talk to you,” Pete says, not knowing it was my idea.
“Lucky me! This tour is about to get 200% better,” I say full of sarcasm.
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Tyler says, smirking as he gets up and heads towards the corridor. “I can still talk to you.”
I follow him with my eyes until he disappears, trying my best not to smile. Maybe I can think of something to forbid him to talk to me, too. Although… I’m not really sure I want that.
I can see Pete staring at me from the corner of my eye, so I decide to head back to my bunk. We still have a couple of hours before we get to the venue and all I can think about is sleeping.
***
I don’t, though. Twerking Tyler keeps threatening to make a comeback into my dreams, so I just spend my time on the Internet. I update the band’s Instagram, like some comments on Twitter, and try to find any articles about last night. There are none. I’m quite surprised since the whole commotion caused quite a scene and there was a lot of paparazzi outside. Someone is clearly doing a good job of keeping the incident under wraps.
We arrive at the venue a few hours after we had planned. Our instruments are all set up already, but everyone decides to have lunch before jumping into rehearsal. I decide to skip it. My stomach is uneasy due to, well, everything, plus I really need some time alone. I need to regroup, to think, to put my feelings in order. I can’t do that when I’m surrounded by people. I’m not used to being surrounded by so many people at all times. I’m not used to people.