Connection -- A Ross Lynch Story

Intoxicated Confession

There never needed to be a good reason for a bit of partying. Life on the road with R5 was mostly work, but they definitely knew how to have some fun. If I had learned anything from them, it was how to throw a killer party. You need to have great music, amazing food, lots and lots of alcohol, and good company. One particular night after a couple weeks of shows, the entire crew and both bands gathered in a couple of adjoining hotel rooms and lost their minds.

I could never hold my hard liquor. The darker and stronger the contents of my glass, the faster I circled the drain. By my fourth drink, I had obviously had too much. While everyone was still dancing and having a wonderful time, I tried to find my way to the nearest bathroom. I pushed my way through the crowds and came upon the closed door of the bathroom, so I banged on it a couple of times. Suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore. I sank down against the wall and held my stomach. Maybe if I closed my eyes, the room would stop spinning. "Are you alright?" Ross slightly slurred. He had clearly had a couple of drinks in him as well, but he was handling it a lot better than I was. "Do you want some help?"

"I'm too drunk," I groaned. I tilted my head back and stared up at the boy standing in front of me. His bare knees showing through his ripped jeans were the first things I saw before my eyes traveled up to his face. "I need to get out of here." Every part of my body felt weighed down and it took every ounce of my strength to reach up and grab hold of his hand that he offered.

Once I was back up on my feet, Ross threw my arm around his neck and hooked his own arm around my waist. He was supporting all of my dead weight. "Hey guys," he hollered to a group near us. I figured one of his brothers was part of that group, but really didn't care enough to open my eyes. "I'm taking Trina back to her room, okay?" I dug my forehead into his shoulder and groaned at the volume of his voice. "I'm sorry," he whispered, pulling the door that lead to the hallway open.

"I don't like whiskey," I mumbled. My hands grazed the hallway walls, thinking maybe I could support a little bit of my weight instead of relying completely on this boy whom was holding me up. "It's not my friend."

We both stumbled a little bit as we turned the corner, causing him to laugh and myself to cry out a little bit. I really didn't feel great. "If you don't like whiskey, why'd you have so much of it?" There was something different about his voice. It had a lighter, childlike quality to it. He was in the sweet spot of intoxication. I shrugged and pointed to a door on the right side of the hallway "I need the key," he laughed.

"Stop laughing at me." I dug into my back pocket and pulled out the card, waving it in front of the sensor. The light blinked green and beeped lightly, and with a click of the lock Ross was able to push it open. Everything in the room was untouched and my backpack rested against the wall in the entrance. "If you'll excuse me," I said, clutching my stomach and rushing into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

The tile on the immaculate white floor was freezing, and after completely losing the contents of my stomach into the toilet, I laid down and closed my eyes. The cooling effect of the

floor on my face soothed me. I regulated my breathing and after a few minutes, I realized that there wasn't going to be an immediate encore. And for that, I was thankful.

I emerged into a dark room, but I wasn't alone. Ross was sitting on the queen bed closest to the wall. I crawled into the bed and rested on the fluffed pillows, letting out a long and over-exaggerated sigh. "Well, I've learned my lesson," I chuckled, rolling over onto my back. "No more whiskey. God, I hate that shit." Ross shifted off of the bed and started to walk away, which made my stomach hurt. This time it wasn't the alcohol. I physically needed him by me, and I had no idea what had come over me to realize this need. "Wait," I called out to him, raising my voice slightly.

"Yeah?" he asked, turning around to face me. He was at the foot of the bed now. I couldn't help but notice how nicely the shirt he was wearing hung off of his muscular shoulders loosely. He looked comfortable. He tilted his head slightly and grinned, but his eyes were starting to get sleepy. The bad thing about the sweet spot was that it could wear off too quickly.

"You don't have to go," I told him quietly. What I needed to do was gain the courage to tell him the truth. The alcohol in my system took care of that for me. "Please don't go."

He hesitated before he kicked off his shoes and crawled onto the bed the same way that I had done, but he laid on his side facing me. What I loved most about him was that in this moment, he wasn't questioning me. He didn't ask me why I pleaded with him, or joke about how hot and cold I could be. It were as if this wasn't out of the ordinary at all, like we did it all the time. Except the only time I had ever been this vulnerable with him was a week ago late at night. The dark of night did dangerous things. "What do you want to do?" he asked.

"Talk about something," I responded. I turned my head so that we were making eye contact in the dark. I watched as his eyelashes tapped against his cheek when he blinked, and the way he licked his lips ever so slightly. I could hear the pattern of his breathing, the air flowing to and from his nose. "Anything, really."

"Okay," he said quietly, drawing out the vowel. "What do you want most in the world?" His voice was starting to get heavy and tired. It was barely even a whisper. The cars on the street outside of the window almost overpowered him now.

It was about to happen. The calm of the night was about to grab me and paired with the bittersweet drunkenness, I was about to spill my truth. I could just feel it coming out of me. I rolled over onto my side to face him and let it out. "I guess what I want is what every human wants," I replied slowly, my eyes flickering between his. "Connection." He exhaled, almost making a word, but it didn't quite form. I could feel tears threaten to leave the confines of my eyes, but I held them back with all of my might. "I dedicate my whole life to connecting with people through my music," I continued. "But there has to be something more."

Ross reached over and wrapped his fingers around mine after he finally found them in the dark. With a comforting squeeze, he moved his head slightly closer to mine and spoke the words that I desperately needed to hear. "There is something more," he said.

That's when I couldn't take it anymore. I was tired of ignoring the feelings in my gut and pushing them aside. I wanted him, and he wasn't making it easy. I made the first move. I leaned in, our noses meeting first before he lifted his head slightly. Our lips molded together like they were meant to be together, and I wondered if this was the something more he was talking about