A Single Moment of Sincerity

one.

warning: sex scene.

WARPED TOUR 2011 - UNDERSTANDING IN A CAR CRASH TOUR BUS

You have to go through bad things in your life, that's how we grow. That's how we learn, improve, become better people. It's how we are able to handle situations as we get older, stay calm and make things easier in the long run. At least, this is what I tell myself during my roughest nights, though I don't know if I always believe it. That is what I was trying to remind myself as I was shaking, rocking back in forth in the bathroom of our tour bus, three days into the three month tour I was stuck on.

Three days, may I remind you, into the three months. I was doing bad, alright. Outside, I could hear one of my bandmates calling for me, but the repetitive voice in my head was screaming louder than his voice. I could barely breathe, but I was trying to remind myself to. No, no, don't breathe, think of all those people standing out there, about to judge your shitty music, your shitty singing voice. You can't sing. You can't play guitar. You look stupid. Why did I become a musician again?

I don't know honestly, and I didn't know then. It was just something I liked. And now, against any better judgement I had, I was stuck on Warpred-fucking-Tour with my acoustic guitar and three guys way too good to be playing with me. It was an hour before we played and I couldn't get off the floor to save my life. Muffled screams of fans and bands were ringing in my ears, and over that was my bandmate now banging on the door of the bathroom. It was too small to fit both of us, but I wasn't about to get up and unlock the door for him, either.

"Hey, Bailey," he called out, his voice dripping with concern. "Please come out. We're running out of time." I nodded, but didn't reply. I knew I needed to get up, but my legs felt like jelly and my breath was way too heavy. I heard him call my name again. This time I actually tried to move. I could feel the tears dried to my cheeks, knowing full well it had washed away the blush and foundation on my face. I reached to unlock the door and slightly pushed it aside. My rhythm guitarist, Mason, was standing there, looking down at me, his eyebrows turned in.

"Sorry," was all I could really muster out. He didn't say anything, just held out his hand to help me up. I took it and pulled myself to my feet. I leaned into his chest, which was warm and firm. Mason spent most of his time playing his guitar, but if he wasn't, he was working out at the gym down the street from his apartment he shared with our drummer, Michael. He squeezed me tight, asking again if I was okay. I nodded, then pulled away from him, apologizing for a second time.

I saw the rest of my band rush into the bus, asking if Mason had gotten me yet. They caught one look at me then cut themselves off. I apologized to them too.

"Let's go, guys. I'll fix my makeup near the stage." I grabbed some foundation off the small table near the front of the bus. I tended to do my makeup there, instead of the bathroom, since it was easier to focus when I was sitting on something comfortable, not cramped inside the panic room with a toilet. Michael looked at me with worry. I didn't meet his gaze, embarrassed from my unsolicited and honestly, stupid breakdown. We exited the bus.

There were plenty of people rushing about—band members, managers, roadies, you name it. We had been parked behind the Asking Alexandria bus in the giant lot. Secretly, or maybe not so secretly, I was glad about that. Though only Mason outright knew, I had spent this tour so far and last tour sleeping with the lead singer, Danny, and partying until we barfed. Maybe the drugs and alcohol were starting to affect my mental health negatively. Maybe, but it was fun, so I didn't care all too much.

We passed the bus, but I didn't see any of the Asking boys. I didn't have much time to pause and see if they were busy. I'd see Danny after our set. He had played earlier that day, so I was sure they weren't too busy at the moment.