Black Ice

xv

fifteen | ishaan

The next two tour dates—  Cincinnati and Louisville— whirled by as anticipation for New Year's mounted. We were soon settling down in Hotlanta, where we'd be staying in not just regular hotel rooms but in suites.

It was an absolute must that our rooms be upgraded as we all anticipated loved ones coming to see us in action. I skipped around the suite— from my bathroom, through my bedroom, around the lavish living room. I even skated circles around Tony's room, where he was making plans on the phone.

I couldn't wait to jumpstart what would soon be three days of relaxation in my own space, unshared by anyone if I so chose.

I anticipated an electrifying show tonight, but what I really looked forward to was the couple of days of unregimented fun and rest that would follow.

The sooner we started, the sooner I could enjoy our miniature break before heading out toward the West Coast. Touring was brutal, unrelenting— not at all as glamorous as I dreamt it to be— and just to make it stop for three days was enough for me.

But before the train could stop, we'd have to finish our last obligation of the year with the same fervor we had in the beginning of the tour. That would begin with soundcheck.

With Deanna flying down just to appear in our show (and probably spend some time with Tony, you know how they are), we spent a little time reworking our setlist.

It was always good seeing Deanna, her lighthearted banter and positive attitude always bringing sunshine to what had become incredibly mundane over the last few weeks.

I couldn't say the same for Crystal as she side-eyed the woman and acted as if she didn't exist unless she absolutely had to address her.

I just hoped Deanna didn't take it personal... At least, not as personally as I did.

For the last couple of weeks, Cris had been colder than usual. I couldn't say I blamed her though, after what went down with Ceezar's crew.

If anything I was surprised by how she was handling it all. Typically, when Crystal had a problem with something, it would become everybody's problem. But this time, there was nothing.

Not a passive aggressive eye-roll. Not a scoff. Not even a dramatic storm out of the room when I would enter.

It was as if she'd just tucked my wrongdoing into a pocket of oblivion, and I was scrunched down along with it.

I should've defended her, when the shit was going down. I'll admit it.

But as time ticked onward, and her acknowledgement of me dwindled, the time to apologize just felt wronger and wronger. With each day, the incident just felt further away.

But she knew I was sorry, right?

Even if she didn't, she'd get over it.

I kept telling myself that: she'd get over it like she always did, but part of me— a teeny part of me— believed that less and less every day.

How do you fix something that feels like it can't be fixed? How—

"Yo, Shaan. What'chu think?" Ice inquired while tapping the sheet on which our setlist was written.

Arrows and scribbles colored the page, illustrating the debate at hand: to replace Where I'm From with Deanna and Tony's joint or shorten both songs to fit our 35-minute set.

Where I'm From needs as much of a push as we could give it, since it was our original second single. But you know what?

"It's New Year's. Fuck it. Replace it," was my final answer, topped with a shrug.