Days Are Numbered

One: Adam

He was so tired. They had played two consecutive shows most of the day and had spent the rest driving around and hauling their guitars and drums to places. He had every right to collapse into his bunk bed before George dragged them away to the next show in the morning. He was so tired yet he didn't make a move towards his bunk bed. Everyone had gone to sleep, equally just as tired as he was and he stubbornly kept himself awake, afraid to go to sleep.

He was suddenly aware of the monotony of it all, the absence of the thrill and the adrenaline when he was up on stage, the lack of excitement and passion when he met new people and hearing them thank him and the band for everything they've done, the uselessness of being on the road most of the year. He sighed, a wave of guilt washing through him. This was the life he consciously chose for himself. He shouldn't be thinking this way. He shouldn't be feeling this way either.

This wasn't him at all.

He could hear the distinct tapping of the keyboard at the other end of the bus where George remained awake for God knows what reason. As far as he knew, she already had their whole year planned out. How she managed to wake up early despite sleeping so late, Adam had no idea. The woman was practically Wonder Woman with cropped black hair and a worn out university shirt.

His eyelids were getting heavy, but he stubbornly kept them open, forcing himself to stay awake as much as possible. There was no point in going to sleep now. He'd end up waking up in cold sweat, chest heaving from a nightmare. Or he'd end up hating himself in the morning for the sweet dreams. His head was already beginning to ache from listening to music too long and he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.

He was sitting on the small kitchen space, in the small booth just behind the refrigerator with a notebook and a pen. He tried to work on some lyrics, write down some notes and chords, just trying to pass time until the sun rises and they had to be getting ready for another show.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to will himself not to sleep. He heard someone approaching and he knew it was their manager, getting ready to retire herself. He felt a hand on his shoulder as he felt her presence beside him.

"Adam," she said, rubbing his shoulder slowly with her thumb. "You go to bed now."

He looked at her, his eyes feeling much more tired than before. "Can't. I'm really into this new song I'm writing."

She cocked an eyebrow. "I know your writing habits, Adam. Go to bed now or your grandmother is going to kill me if she hears you collapsed in the middle of a show."

"Well, I won't tell if you won't."

"There will be a bloody massacre if she finds out you haven't been sleeping well. Just go to bed, Adam. Please. Besides you're going to fall any second now."

Adam sighed in defeat, shut his notebook closed, and stood up from the small table. "You know, I was thinking..."

George rolled her eyes. "Adam..."

"Think about it, if I sleep now, you won't be able to wake me up the next morning."

"We'll see about that. Bed. Now."

"I'm going, Mom."

"Call me that one more time, and I'll make sure you don't get any more Skittles in the dressing room."

"You wouldn't, Georgianna."

She pushed him gently on the shoulder. "That's it, no more candy for you."

She followed him towards the bunk beds and made sure he got up on his before climbing on hers. "Just sleep, Adam. Please," she said before drawing the curtain close.

Adam lay on his bunk, fighting the lull of sleep. But he knew he wasn't going to win this battle. He finally closed his eyes and as expected, he drifted into sleep almost immediately.

She wore a dark dress this time. It wasn't anything unusual. She never wore anything light colored. She reasoned it was because she didn't suite them. Lighter colors were suited for girls who had fuller frames than she had. He felt himself laughing as she slowly unzipped the back of her dress. She stopped and looked over her shoulder.

"Help me with this, will you, Adam?"

He felt himself approach her, his hand reaching out toward her and undid the rest of the zipper. Fair skin exposed, she let the dress slip from her body and pool around her feet. He was touching her, kissing her, holding her so close he felt the heat of her skin through his clothes.

"Adam," she whispered as she peppered his neck with kisses, her hands deliciously scratching his head and pulling at his hair. He breathed her name and suddenly he felt her skin on his. He was kissing her again, harder and sloppier. He had to hold her close.

"I love you," he told her. "So much."

They're lying next to each other, in the tangled mess of bedsheets and clothes. They were looking at each other, exchanging no words but deep in content in each other's company. Her long black hair was everywhere, but he didn't mind. He loved to run his fingers through her hair, even in his dreams, he remembers how smooth and silky it was. If only this moment could last forever, if only he didn't need to wake up, he could just relinquish every second just holding her, breathing in her apple scent, kissing her, just being with her and never going back to reality.

"Adam," she whispered again, moving closer, nuzzling his neck. "You didn't do your laundry again." He felt her laughter against his throat. "This has got to stop."

"How else am I supposed to remember you by?"

"Do you really need to? We talk every day."

"Mm," he pulled her closer. "Not enough. Maybe if you'd consider coming to tour with me, I'd wash them myself."

"Oh, you would?"

He laughed. "I would. Though your smell would wash away."

"That's not creepy at all."

"You love me, regardless."

She laughed again and kissed his jaw. "I'll see you in the morning," was her way of saying 'good night'. But he knew that when he wakes up in the morning, he'll realize it was just a dream. He'd awake to find himself alone in his bunk bed, wishing he had never went to sleep in the first place.

When he does wake up the next morning, thanks to George shaking him awake, he is greeted with an empty feeling. He remembers the dream vaguely now, but he didn't feel any less sad about it. The constant aftermath of every night was the distant scent of apples. It remained and lingered that he wasn't sure if he was just thinking it or if he really was smelling it.

The first time in his life, he wanted to puke at the scent of apples. His mind was hazy with a faint scent of it, and he was very sure he had sent all his clothes to the washers—twice.