Band On The Run

My Way

In an almost mirror picture to the week before, I was stood just slightly down the road from UAE again, a pack of cigarette stuffed into the pocket of my leather jacket.

This time I'd gotten here entirely too early even for Mark to be here. The sun had set over the city, the watery glow of the streetlights warming up the damp pavement, and I stood there with a cigarette burning faithfully between my fingers. I wasn't upset to be on my own. In fact, I'd gotten there so early so I could have a moment to hopefully centre myself inside my body. I suspected I wasn't going to get another moment to myself for the rest of the evening, so I decided to take advantage of the solitude while I could.

When I'd been younger, I'd never wanted to be alone, always racing to the next person available when I was left on my own for anything longer than a minute or two. It was why I'd wanted to live in that shit box apartment with Will. I could've afforded my own place by then. It was why whenever Seth had turned inwards without me, I'd gone searching for Will or Jake or Maureen, anyone to take my mind off the fact I might not actually be enough – that me, just me in my own skin, was never going to be enough to fulfil anyone, even me. The worst thing I could have ever considered back then was being alone in the quiet. It was probably the reason I always had a guitar in my hand to fill the voice.

Then I'd been left alone, and it had been just as bad as I'd imagined and I'd let myself wallow in it for years until Nick had gotten through. It had been a little glimmer of hope that maybe I would be alone forever.

Now, though? I really didn't mind it. In fact, I'd craved it enough that I'd shown up to my old record label an hour before I was meant to meet my band and manager for the already early meet up time. All so I would get the chance to breathe on my own for once, some time where I wouldn't have eyes glued on me, second guessing every word and the motivation of all my actions. That restlessness that had been a constant, thrumming, part of me when I was young wasn't there anymore. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe I was just done.

It was so early in fact that the preparations for the party were still happening, trucks for decorations and catering throwing their hazards on in the street while they rushed in and out of the building. There weren't even press there yet, and I knew for a fact Maureen Jones wouldn't host a party without calling in the paparazzi. Especially not a party I suspected she only went through with to secure my public humiliation.

Thankfully I'd parked myself far enough away not to be noticed. Although this time I'd been smart enough to find a garbage can to stand next to, flicking the ash from my cigarette in it while I leaned my shoulder against the light post.

"If you keep showing up early, you're going to trick me into believing you care."

Despite my dour mood, the words had me grinning around the cigarette as I inhaled casually. "You should know better than that by now, dear," I answered without turning around, the smoke crawling out of lips.

Mark stepped into my eyeline; hands tucked into his trouser pockets, and I let my eyes sweep over his impeccably tailored navy suit. He always did like to dress for the moment. Tonight, he'd decided on contacts, no glasses in sight, and I realized that as I watched his eyes doing a sweep of my figure. Apparently, I'd been found lacking, because his nose crinkled up slightly, something between disgust and disappointment.

"What?" I asked defensively, grabbing the smoke between my two fingers so I could look down at myself. Converse, ripped jeans, leather jacket. I had thought I'd dressed up slightly by forgoing a concert tee in favour of a plain cropped tee shirt. I'd even thought to put on a belt.

Yet Mark still just looked at me unimpressed. "You're playing a pretty fancy party. I believe the dress code was formal," he said with a pointed look at the big rip in the denim on my thigh.