Soon, My Friend (Currently Editing)

The embarrassing incident

This random Spanish security guard told me I could come back into the arena's wardrobes to shower if I wanted, and wait there for the others while they wrapped up after the show. 

I'd been waiting in one of the tour buses for such a long time and was so grateful I could move, not sitting alone in the lounge of the bus all left to myself. Sitting there embraced by my own silence felt strange. It was just sad, like waiting for a train never arriving - on a platform, or in this case in a lounge, where there are supposed to be people and energy.

When I got up it was empty in the wardrobe I was meant to meet them. I heard some voices outside the room, but didn't recognize any of them.

I didn't have the patience to shower, but I put on some make up and put up my hair. I started to worry about the time, it was approaching midnight and I refused to believe we were having dinner at this time of night.

But I was so fucking hungry and close to my familiar mood: hangry. 

When I get that hungry I become angry. Some people can recognize themselves in that, I guess. 

When you're visiting a big city, for example, and you're fatal hungry and exhausted, have painful, new shoes and the weather is gray or the sun is shining too strongly. You haven't found anything particularly nice in the shops during the last several hours, and your family wants to visit a boring museum before it closes - exactly the museum of all the museums you didn't plan to check out?

It's just like losing your mind.

And that's getting hangry.

My mood.

I texted Harry for third or fourth time without answers throughout the evening, asking again where they were at, but got no response within ten minutes. My patience failed on me.

I peeked out of the door, scanning the corridor from left to right as if it was a road to cross. The people who'd been here earlier speaking, wasn't there any more.

To summarize the rest of the second last evening in Madrid: I tried to call people a few more times without success (didn't have that many numbers), got myself a big bottle of gin and tonic down in one of the bars downstairs, gulped down half the contents on my way back to the tour bus, said hello in fucking French to the confused guards who were loading baggage on the bus, found no living soul inside the bus, drank up the rest of the bottle, and fell asleep in one of the bunk beds (I also got sick in the nearest rubbish can).

"Hey, Billie. Billie-e-e-e..?"

That's not June's voice... Not Shannon's... Not Harry's..

Whose voice is this, where the hell.. am I?

I opened my eyes gently, and then abruptly - my body jumped - in the same way I reacted every time I'd overslept for work at home. A gray wool blanket covered my legs, I was still wearing the basketball shirt and shorts. But my shoes were taken off.

I found myself still in the bunk bed, the lights were turned on and it took a long time before my eyes got used to it being so bright.

It was Niall who was crouched beside me. He grinned with the front teeth on his lower lip and looked a bit like a personal trainer, especially with his Nike-snapback. He wore a white t-shirt and a hoodie over it which look very, very comfy. I frowned at him.

"Cottonmouth..." I squeaked. Niall was quick and handed a bottle of water. I guzzled it down, thanked him for bringing two water bottles, and drank the other one as well.

"Where the hell did you go yesterday?" he asked and sniggered.

"What's the time?" I asked him at the same time.